The Red Jewel - Episode 4

March 05, 2020 by John Kixmiller in Eco Fiction, Young Adult Novels

 
  THE RED JEWEL
  
  Episode 4 
  Written By John KixMiller 
  © 2020 All Rights Reserved

THE VEGETABLE STONE

Tiny lay there silently while the tears dried on Abby’s face. “We’ll get through this together,” said Abby softly. She held Tiny’s hand. In seconds Tiny fell asleep.

Abby tried to remember everything she could about Tiny. A few things stood out in her mind. For at least a year Abby had been aware that Tiny had bonded with her in a way that was difficult to understand.

She can see so vividly, so painfully, that our world is badly messed up. The adults are failing in their most basic job. Tiny somehow counts on me to make it okay. But what can I do? And then there’s this relationship with the Good Fairy and her daughter Emily. Tiny talks to them, and tells us what they say. Tiny seems to think it’s her job to let us know what the Good Fairy feels and thinks, her messages to this fallen world. Come to think of it, there’s a similarity there with how the mapstick talks to me. A strong similarity. Tiny and I have these important personalities living inside us. They seem to be our friends! Is it just my imagination, or do they use us to help the world in some way, even if its just a little bit?

Abby remembered every word of her conversation with Tiny. She felt that Tiny was beyond her, speaking from some deeper level of human experience. And yet Abby could identify with everything Tiny said. Her words only seemed irrational. On closer examination, they were full of insight about their lives, their vulnerabilities, and even the recent conversation between her mother and Dr. Bear, a discussion Tiny probably couldn’t even hear. What did all this add up to?

Same thing as before. Tiny counts on me, literally counts on me, to make the world okay! She gives me a responsibility way beyond my strength! How does that song of Wendy’s go?

All I have left is the best I can do

It’ll take all we’ve got to carry us through

Then Abby remembered every word Dr. Bear had said. It appeared that the doctor knew both more and less than she let on. On the one hand, she knew that one basic symptom of this disease was dreaming while awake. Apparently something gets blurred between the dreamworld and the waking world. Abby could hear Dr. Bear trying to convey the seriousness of this symptom without scaring Glenda.

Dr. Bear knows that I can probably handle this better than Glenda. But Dr. Bear can’t handle this herself. I can see how that hospital might appear to a doctor. Something chaotic, something they never saw before. And once the patient is left alone, the boundaries begin to disappear. So… the doctors really don’t know what to do. Could this breakdown have lasting effects, leave people broken and lost? Surely the doctors are very worried, not to mention that some adults might get this disease. Even I might get it! I really need to talk to Wendy. I absolutely must. Sometimes I feel like I have this disease already.

As the time went by, Abby could hardly keep her eyes open. Tiny had been sleeping quietly, but suddenly began to thrash around. Abby felt her forehead, and was shocked by the heat. She found a washcloth and soaked it in cool water, wrung out the excess water, and placed it on Tiny’s forehead. Tiny continued to roll back and forth, mumbling and sweating. Abby filled a glass of cold water, and waited for an opportunity to help Tiny drink.

Out of the east window a faint light was drifting into the room, the first sign of morning. The washcloth on Tiny’s forehead was no longer cool. Abby soaked it again, and used it to wipe the sweat from Tiny’s head and neck.

She really needs a cool bath. But I’d rather have Glenda do that. Perhaps I’ll wake her.

Tiny sat up, her pajamas drenched in sweat. She seemed full of energy, but half-asleep. She stared at nothing. Abby hugged her and said, “I’m here. It’s okay.” But Tiny did not seem to hear her. Her head turned this way and that. “Don’t do that!” she said to no one in particular. Abby hugged her again, but Tiny shrugged her off. She was becoming more agitated, and Abby went to the living room and woke up Glenda.

“I think I’m going to need your help. Tiny needs a cool bath, a bowl of that soup, and some hugs. Oh, where are those pills that keep fever down?”

“Oh my God, it’s morning already.” Glenda jumped up and entered the bedroom. “Tiny, its me. I’m here.” She hugged Tiny, who continued to thrash around. Glenda glanced at Abby. “She’s so hot!” Tiny began to cry, and yelled “Stop! Stop!” But she didn’t seem to be talking to Glenda. “Please stop! Please!” Glenda was in tears.

“I’ll run a cool bath,” Abby told her. Glenda led Tiny to the bathroom and stripped off her wet pajamas. The cool water seemed to soothe her. Glenda brought her back to bed in a huge bath towel. Tiny lay down quietly. The morning sun was shining through the window.

Glenda took her temperature. “It’s over 104 degrees! What are we going to do? Has it been like this all night?”

“No, not at all. But I’m worried. I haven’t been able to feed her. I haven’t found a good moment to help her drink. When she wakes she keeps moving around, and doesn’t hear what I say.”

“Let me try to give her these pills, and you hold a glass for her.”

But Tiny was now sound asleep. “I think I’ll wait a bit,” said Glenda. “We’ll get her to drink as soon as she begins to wake. Let’s take this moment to talk. What are we going to do? This is not good.”

Glenda rose and paced around the room, looking out the windows. “I could call Dr. Bear again. But what can she do?” Glenda turned back to Abby. “We’ve got to give her these medications and get her to drink. Let’s try.”

Glenda hugged her and raised her to a sitting position. Abby put the glass to her lips and poured a bit of water. It spilled down Tiny’s chin. Abby tried again and Tiny swallowed, and swallowed again. Her eyes opened. “Here Tiny,” Glenda said. “Swallow these.” She popped two pills in Tiny’s mouth, and Abby put the glass to her lips. Tiny swallowed. Then she shook Glenda off and lay back down. They let her sleep.

Glenda made two cups of coffee. They sat together, feeling the coffee waking them up. “I have to admit,” Abby told her, “I’m not sure how to handle this. Dr. Bear certainly gave us a picture of the situation, and she had good advice… but still, they don’t even know what this disease is. It’s a brand new experience. What more can she say?”

Glenda nodded. “Of course, we’ll get Tiny to drink a few swallows of soup. We’ll give her more cool baths… but it doesn’t feel like enough. Tiny seems to be getting worse. We’re moving in the dark, and so are the doctors.”

Abby was staring off into the distance. Then she looked at Glenda. “I don’t know if I ever told you, but when I was sick as a child Wendy helped me. She has her own medicines. I’m thinking maybe you’d like her to visit.”

“Wendy? Wendy would visit me? To help Tiny?”

“I think so. I wouldn’t have suggested it, but Tiny does seem pretty sick, and we seem to have run out of ideas. A hundred people are probably bothering Dr. Bear, and I don’t see leaving Tiny at the hospital. I think Dr. Bear is right, Tiny is better off here. And I could find Wendy in a few hours. Perhaps she’ll come here by evening. I’m not promising…”

“Yes, please!” Glenda jumped at the offer. “Yes! As soon as possible!” She began to cry.

Abby looked at her timer. It was 7:15. She called Peter to say that she needed the day off to try to get help for Tiny.

“What’s the matter?” he asked.

“It’s a bad flu, or maybe a new kind of flu. The doctors aren’t sure what it is. Nothing seems to help.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I’ll tell you later, after I do it.”

“Keep me informed. I’m worried about Tiny now, and the rest of the children too.”

In fifteen minutes Abby walked out Glenda’s back door and entered the forest near the Great Oak Tree. She felt bad for Peter, left with too few staff and too many worries. But Abby was determined to bring Wendy to see Tiny. Her motivation was overpowering. She had no doubts.

It was a warm, sunny day. The late August leaves were still green and full. Almost no sun reached the forest floor. She glanced back a few times but nothing moved in the dense shadows. Everything’s going my way. My plan is working out! Abby was in the midst of doing good, and felt invincible.

I wish I had a shorter route to Wendy’s house. There must be a faster way, probably underground. But the way Chi Chi taught me is not fast at all. And I miss having the mapstick. I’m sure the mapstick knows a faster way. Abby concentrated on all she knew about the underground, but she knew it was useless. Even if she went back to the churchyard for the mapstick, she would have to enter the underground in broad daylight. It was a risk she couldn’t take. So Abby pressed forward with no rest, crossing the Half Moon in her dinghy, climbing the cliff, and finally jogging through the great beech woods up to Wendy’s door. She let herself breath for a moment, and knocked. There was silence for a longer time than Abby could endure, and she knocked again. There was no sound.

Oh no, please! Wendy’s got to be around somewhere.

She heard the sound of steps somewhere in the house. She knocked again, and heard Wendy’s voice calling, “I’m coming! I’m coming! Can’t I have a moments peace around here? What is it?”

Wendy opened the door with a hard shove, and was surprised to see Abby standing there. “Well! I didn’t expect to see you! That Peter Hood never ceases to bother me. And my father and Chi Chi encourage him. Do I need more wood? More bread? Fish? Am I okay? Hunters are a few miles away and I should stay indoors.” Wendy paused and stared in fury. “I am not an invalid! I will not be treated like an old lady! I have important tasks on hand and will not be interrupted!”

Abby waited, and then said quietly, “We need your help, Wendy. Tiny is very sick. Dr. Bear doesn’t seem to be able to help.”

“Hmm…” said Wendy. “Well, it’s that time. Look, I’m in the middle of something. Come in and tell me about it.”

Abby followed her through two rooms to the large workshop more or less stuck onto the back of the house. Two tables were covered with plants, chopped herbs, strange containers, vials, tubes, books, and pages of scribbled writing. Nearby stood a black stove with a large copper pot on the burners. The pot was covered by a metal cone, with a tube that conveyed the vapors to a vessel on one of the tables. Abby caught a brief glimpse of the liquid and steam in the pot, glowing with a powerful, deep red color.

Using a long rod with a wooden handle, Wendy prodded a steaming red mass floating in the pot. “Such a day to be interrupted!” she howled. “It’s the perfect day, the perfect moment. Months of work are at stake. Soon, in hours or days, this will harden into a vegetable stone, and believe me, we’re going to need it! But I can’t expect you to understand these things.”

“I tell you, Tiny is very sick. She needs your help.”

“I can’t just leave it unfinished!” cried Wendy, and shook her fist over her head. “Believe me, you’re going to need this work I’m finishing now.”

Abby stamped her foot. “What good is this if you can’t even help a sick child? This place is full of medicines you never use.”

Wendy looked at her and thought for a minute. “Hmm…” she said, and stoked her long chin with a forefinger. She uttered a heartfelt sigh, shrugged her shoulders, and said, “Help me move this.”

She tossed Abby an old rag. Wendy grabbed a similar piece of material and grasped a handle of the pot. Abby did the same, and together they set the pot on the stone floor.

“Well, that’s that,” sighed Wendy. She left the room and returned in a moment with a black knapsack. From a shelf full of beakers and bottles and small containers of every description, she selected a glass jar full of crushed pale gray leaves. With a shovel shaped spoon, she put a quantity of these leaves into a small bag, and closed it with a drawstring. Then she grabbed a dark little bottle about five inches tall stopped with a cork, and a few silver instruments, and put everything into the knapsack.

“I’ll have to go down to the cave,” she said. “If it’s serious, we might as well have the best with us, just in case.”

Wendy opened the wooden trap door at the back of her workshop, lit a candle with the glass cover, and disappeared down the very narrow stone stairway that descended steeply into the darkness. Full of curiosity, Abby followed, wishing she had the mapstick to light the way, and possibly speak to her about the mysteries below. She had been there many times, but had never seen Wendy’s most valued medicines. The cold air had a damp, musty scent that was very familiar.

The passageway began to descend again, but opened suddenly on a large cave glimmering in the light of the candle. Wendy stood near the left hand wall of the cave, facing a small door built into the rock. She was making small, rapid movements with one hand. Suddenly the door came open. Moving closer Abby saw a walk-in closet lined with shelves. She realized that the closet was a very secure refrigerator, constantly at a low temperature but never freezing. Jars of many sizes and shapes stood on the shelves. Nets of apples, onions, potatoes and other tubers, and a variety of dried plants hung from the ceiling. The sound of rushing water filled the air.

From a small cabinet Wendy removed a metal cylinder about the size of a man’s fist, and put it into a small leather bag. They then returned the way they had come. Wendy sat at the kitchen table, pursing her lips and staring at the large blue veins on the back of her hand.

She’s thinking, Abby told herself, and waited. What comes next?

“Well, we have the best, but hopefully we won’t need it today. There is very little of the best, but we can’t afford to fail. The fate of my mother, you know. It haunts me. Being a healer is a dangerous occupation. She treated a man, and apparently failed. She lost her life, and our homes were burned. Chi Chi and I were born in the stress of that moment, and my life is scared with that tragedy. I knew we were going to have to start treating very sick people again, but… you should know that we can’t afford to fail. And when the vegetable stone is gone, we can do no more. Oh, and we’re going to need the mapstick.”

Abby was surprised. “Why? What does the mapstick have to do with this?”

“You’re probably not aware of it, but the presence and light of the mapstick helps people heal. It reaches deep, and we’ll need it. For one thing, with the mapstick the vegetable stone will last longer, and the healing will be more certain. So think about it.”

“I’ve already been thinking about it. I would have it with me, except I won’t us the churchyard entrance to the underground in daylight.”

“We’ll have to find a solution, but not right now. I know a shortcut underground. Remember it. You’re going to need it.”

The Red Jewel - Episode 3

February 19, 2020 by John Kixmiller in Eco Fiction

 
  THE RED JEWEL
  
  Episode 3 
  Written By John KixMiller 
  © 2020 All Rights Reserved

WILL YOU KEEP IT FOR ME?

Abby sat near Tiny on the bed and read a story, but she could not hold Tiny’s attention. Glenda kept nervously staring out the small front door window, moving back to look at Tiny, and then staring out the larger living room window. Tiny began watching her mother, not noticing the pictures in the book. Abby signaled Glenda to stop pacing around. She pressed her hand toward the floor and mouthed, “Calm down.” Glenda understood.

Then Abby had an idea, and asked Tiny, “Do you remember the story you and your friends made up at the pre-school?”

Tiny’s eyes turned to Abby. “Was I the Good Fairy?”

“Yes, you were… and you still are, any time you want to be.”

“How did that story begin?”

“Well, we were playing ‘building a city’, and it became a story. We gathered baby trees from outside and made a forest. You and all your friends found figures and they became characters in the story.”

“Tell me more.” Tiny’s voice was very faint. She could barely keep her eyes open.

“Franklyn became a wizard, and a dragon appeared guarding the treasure in the forest. Wonder Woman and Robin Hood’s band defended the forest from bad guys wanting the treasure. And the city and forest have animals, like birds, dogs, raccoons, even an owl.”

Tiny had fallen asleep. Abby sat quietly near her as the time slowly went by. Tiny couldn’t get comfortable. She moved her limbs, kicked off the sheet, and muttered in her sleep. Sweat dripped down her temples.

“There she is!” exclaimed Glenda. She opened the door before Dr. Bear had a chance to knock. The air outside was full of fog and a fine drizzle. The doctor carried a small dark leather bag, glazed with water. Glenda took her wet overcoat and hat. Their eyes met. Even though they said ‘hello’ as if it were a casual visit, Abby could feel their anxiety. They quickly walked into the bedroom. Tiny’s eyes opened, and Abby stood aside, saying nothing. Tiny met Dr. Bear’s kind dark eyes.

“My stomach hurts,” murmured Tiny. “My back hurts.”

“Let’s see if we can help you feel better,” came the doctor’s soft voice. “Sit up here if you can.” Glenda sat next to Tiny and arranged her pillows and helped her up. From her bag Dr. Bear took an instrument that lit up, and looked into Tiny’s eyes and throat and ears. She felt her stomach, under her arms, and behind her knees.

“Try to cough for me.”

Tiny made an effort, but hardly made a sound. Dr. Bear took another instrument and listened to her breathing, and heartbeat. Finally, she took Tiny’s temperature. “Hmm… a little over 103 degrees. Not bad compared to some others. Let’s try drinking a lot of water.” She handed Tiny a half full glass from the bedtable and helped her take a few swallows, and then helped her again.

Dr. Bear turned to Glenda and Abby. “Let’s make a pot of warm tea.” She turned back to Tiny. “Everything’s going to be all right. Do you like mint?”

“Sometimes.” Tiny’s voice was still almost a whisper.

“Okay, we’ll be right back.”

The adults retreated to the kitchen. Glenda put water on to boil and fumbled through a cupboard until she brought out a tin of mint. Abby watched Dr. Bear. She’s figuring out what to say,’ thought Abby. It’s not easy. Not easy at all.

Dr. Bear began in a very low voice. “This is what people have been calling the ‘summer flu’. We had a few cases, and suddenly have a lot of cases. It’s got a few specific symptoms, mainly exhaustion, high fever, aches and pains. We don’t see the usual respiratory infection, no danger of pneumonia so far as we can tell. This virus is something new, and so we’re watching it and studying it very carefully. You see…” the doctor paused.

"She actually looks embarrassed!” thought Abby in amazement.

“You see, it’s actually not the flu.”

“But…” Glenda could hardly get her words out. “But then what is it?”

“We don’t really know yet. As I said, it’s something new. The scientists in the laboratories don’t have a name yet. We don’t even have a test for it. But those of us treating this illness know the symptoms.”

“All right,” replied Glenda, trying to be patient. “How does it run its course, what can we expect, what can we do to help?”

“This virus is probably a cousin of the flu virus, related in some way. I’ve brought two antiviral medications that should help to some extent, especially to keep the fever down. Try to keep her cool. No hot food or drink, lots of cold water. Bathe her in gently cool water if the fever spikes. Don’t shock her with cold.”

“What can we expect over the next few days?” Glenda was far from satisfied. Abby could see that she was barely able to control her fears.

“We’ve noticed two other characteristics of this virus. It primarily spreads among children. You should certainly keep her home for at least a week, and no visits from children or even teens. And second, these cases vary considerably from each other. Some are severe, some are very light, and are over in a few days. But keep her home until you are sure.”

“But Dr. Bear, please don’t avoid the bad news. Have any children died of this virus? What are the danger signals?”

“Please,” replied the doctor, “keep you voice down. Fear, anxiety, and stress will only do harm. Pay attention to Tiny’s comfort and her morale. Give her plenty of loving attention. There is little of that to spare in the hospital, as you may guess. I think she’s better off here, but only if she’s watched around the clock. She will not have a normal sleep schedule. She’ll sleep and wake on and off all day and night. Whenever she’s awake she needs attention. Cold water to drink at all times. Help her with it. Get some food in her. Soups, but cool before serving. And fruits, cut them bite sized. Make everything very easy to swallow. Try to feed her any time she will tolerate a few swallows. We really do not want to have to admit her to the hospital for lack of nourishment or hydration.”

“All right.” Glenda had tears in her eyes. “Abby, please… Can you stay with me?”

The eyes of Glenda and the doctor were zeroed in on Abby. But she had no problem, even liked the idea.

“Of course! I had already decided to stay.”

Glenda hugged her, and turned back to Dr. Bear. “And when will you come back? When should I call you?”

“I’ll come by again the day after tomorrow. And remember…” The doctor had raised her voice. “Tiny will move in and out of sleep all twentyfour hours. It can be a problem that sometimes she’s in between sleep and waking. She may dream while she’s awake. That can be very frightening. Bathe her in cool water when that happens. And here, this is a strong fever medicine. Give it regularly according to directions. Do not overdo it. A cool washcloth and water to drink are a must. And give her constant attention if she is dreaming while awake. Get her to sit up. Find any way you can to entertain her, reassure her. Have one of you nearby at all times… I’m sorry if I can’t give you better news. We will probably know more in a few days, and I’ll call. I’m sorry, but right now I have to return to the hospital. More cases come in all the time. Some parents are not prepared for twenty-four hour duty, and the hospital is crowded.”

“Just one more question. Adults just don’t get this virus?”

“Very rarely.” Dr. Bear put on her coat and hat, and retrieved her bag. Glenda followed her out the door thanking her over and over. Tiny was sleeping.

When Glenda returned out of the rain she hugged Abby and wept on her shoulder for a minute, and then pulled herself together. “I’m so grateful. But I’m overwhelmed. Let’s make a quick plan.”

“I’ve already thought of that.” Abby was very cheerful, and smiled. “You should eat and go to sleep as soon as possible. I feel ready for this. I’ve learned a lot, and wouldn’t sleep anyway. Let’s get a soup on the stove. I’ll sit with Tiny all night. My sleep schedule has been very strange this past week, so this is nothing new.”

They chopped vegetables and fried very small pieces of chicken, covered them with water, and left the pot to simmer. Glenda flopped down on the living room couch and Abby turned out the light.

Watching Tiny sleep, she was astonished to see so much movement of the eyes under their lids, so many changes of expression. It was obvious that a world of things was happening inside her heart and soul. Life was taking place. Time went by. Abby had an interesting thought.

Hmm… wasn’t I just asking ‘Free to do what?’ Wasn’t I wondering how to repay the Great Mystery for saving me, and hopefully all those poor souls mumbling in that deep dark region? That was some sort of demon in charge. But I held my own! And when I got in too deep, and was about to be lost, someone saved us with that incredible light. That really happened! I must write it down, and think it through word by word.

Tiny’s eyes opened. She focused on Abby’s face.

“Were you telling a story?”

“Yes, the story you and your friends made up about our play-city and forest.”

“Can you tell me about that? I must have fallen asleep.”

Abby decided to start at the beginning. “We made a city of blocks, and gathered baby maple trees for the forest. You chose to be the Good Fairy. Franklyn put a wizard in the forest, and a dragon guarding a treasure. Bad guys from the town wanted to steal the treasure, and Robin Hood’s band and Kayla’s gnomes helped protect the forest…”

Tiny interrupted. “Is there a hospital?”

Abby admitted that she wasn’t sure if anyone had thought of that, but a hospital could certainly be added…

Tiny interrupted. “Did anyone ask what I asked? About Dr. Bear visiting the hospital?”

Abby wasn’t sure what to say. Tiny asked if children had to go to the hospital.

I didn’t expect this! thought Abby.I have no idea…

“Why don’t you say something?” Tiny asked.

“Oh… I’m having a hard time remembering.”

“Mom is going to have a hard time going out.”

“I’m not sure what you mean.” Abby was struggling, feeling totally out of her depth.

“Because she’ll slip,” Tiny went on.

“Why?”

“The ground is wet and cold. You slip when the ground is wet, don’t you? Coats are meant to be worn, aren’t they?”

“Definitely.” At least one answer I’m sure of, thought Abby. But I’m lost.

“We don’t want to get sick again, do we?”

“No, not at all.”

“Then we’ll have to have the doctor come, right? And we’ll just slip and slide. Slip and slide, dip and glide… We don’t want to do that but something happens, right?”

I’m lost.

“Slip and slide, dip and die. Dip and die, dip and die.”

Abby’s eyes filled with tears.

“What’s the matter?”

“I’m having trouble understanding.”

“Can you tell me about that?”

“It has something to do with talking to Dr. Bear.”

“Will she know better?”

I’m lost, lost.

“Dip and die, dip and die, deep and dip and die.”

Abby could not speak.

“Will you tell me what happens to the forest when the bad guys come?

Who are the bad guys?”

“That’s a big part of the story.”

“Will you tell it?”

“I’ll try… I just can’t find a way to start.”

“Abby?”

“Mm hmm.”

“Where did all of this come from? How is it that we’re here?”

“I think… that’s a question for the Good Fairy, or Reverend Tuck, or my godmother.”

Abby was afraid Tiny would ask about her godmother, but Tiny went on with her own remarkable thoughts.

“Where do we go once it’s over? And how do we keep the things we love?” Tiny paused. “Are you crying?”

“No, no. That’s okay. I love you.”

“Abby?”

“Mm hmm.”

“I’ll miss all of this when I’m grown up… Will you keep it for me?”

“I’ll do my best, I promise you. I know I’ll miss it too. We’ll need the help of the Good Fairy. Maybe she knows a way.”

“What’s the matter?”

“It’s okay… I’m just… crying.”

The Red Jewel - Episode 2

February 06, 2020 by John Kixmiller in Eco Fiction

 
  THE RED JEWEL
  
  Episode 2 
  Written By John KixMiller 
  © 2020 All Rights Reserved

GLENDA AND ABBY WORRY ABOUT TINY

Abby lay awake until the early hours of the morning.I’m free! Oh, how wonderful. But free to do what? How can I repay the Great Mystery for these astonishing gifts? I really do not know. I need a sign. Just one more revelation, one more communication. I’ll do all the good I can do! It’s just that I need you.

Her alarm rang at 7am. She’d only slept about three hours, but she awoke full of eager energy. It felt like she’d been away from the pre-school for weeks. She missed the children. In fact, she couldn’t wait to get to work. Her only problem was the mystery of Rose’s disappearance. Abby knew there was a secret issue there, and she was afraid it had to do with the family history she had learned from her mother. Rose’s grandmother took care of the children for the Georgi family. She had taken care of Wendy and Chi Chi’s mother! And Abby’s mother’s grandmother was the house manager and cook. And these two women were sisters, and had been an intimate part of the Georgi family! So, Abby and Rose were related, but no one ever spoke about it.

Why such a secret? Abby was afraid she knew a least one answer all too well. Wendy and Chi Chi’s mother had been attacked as a witch. The mob that burned Hidden Valley had been especially seeking this mysterious, powerful witch.

And these legends are kept alive and even grow more powerful, due to Wendy’s reputation… and… even my reputation. Abby found it hard to admit it to herself, even though it was obvious. Therefore, the pre-school could be accused of being a den of witches! thought Abby in astonishment. .Could Rose have been threatened by someone? And yet nothing has come of the whole thing.

Abby was still poring over this puzzle as she rode her bike to work. No one followed her. It was a beautiful day, clear and cool with a breeze. She followed Glenda’s blue truck into the driveway, and Glenda and Tiny stepped out. Abby called to them, kissed both on the cheek, and the three stood together. Tiny seemed a little dazed and glassy-eyed.

Glenda said, “Are you sure you’re feeling okay? Maybe we should both stay home today.”

“Mom! I’m going to school. I want to go to school.”

As they walked into the large playroom, Glenda said to Peter, “I’m not sure, but Tiny doesn’t seem like herself this morning. She woke up a little under the weather, and seems very tired. I’ll be home studying, so give me a call if she’s not having a good day.”

“She looks okay to me,” returned Peter. “But I’ll let you know.” Tom Winkle arrived with Lucy. “It’s such a beautiful day! Let’s all make an outdoor quest today. We can find more baby maple trees, and give them away at the next church gathering. Let each child go home with a tree.”

It was obvious that Tom was going to stay. I guess Rose has not come back. It’s okay with me. Abby was relieved. Rob, Tom, and Abby made a good team, but still, Abby could tell they were understaffed, and it couldn’t go on indefinitely. Labor Day was only a week away. The public schools would be opening soon, and the pre-school would change, and expand. Some children would be graduating to kindergarten. In fact Lucy would begin first grade. New children would join.

Abby noticed that Tiny had nothing to say during circle time and didn’t seem to have much energy. She played with some blocks by herself, and suddenly she stretched out on the floor and laid her head on her arm. Abby walked over and got Tiny to lie on a mat.

“Are you okay?” she asked gently.

“I’m really not feeling too well.”

Abby put her hand on Tiny’s forehead. It felt warm, even hot. Abby glanced up to find Peter, and noticed that he was observing her with a questioning look. “Yes, I think so,” replied Abby.

“I’ll call Glenda,” Peter said, and walked to the phone in the other room.

Tiny just lay there until Glenda arrived. “I’ll keep her home tomorrow,” she told Peter, and bundled Tiny up in her coat and carried her out to the truck. Abby couldn’t get the look on Tiny’s face off her mind. She seemed so exhausted, and possibly in pain. She hung her head as if she couldn’t hold it up.

By the end of the morning session Abby had decided to ride her bike directly to Glenda’s house. It was a beautiful day, sunny with a cool breeze, but she could take no pleasure in it. She didn’t even feel like eating. Let me get this off my mind, she thought. Its probably nothing. And yet it was odd, no sign of coughing, no runny nose. Let me just check this out.

She knocked on the door and Glenda answered right away. At a glance Abby saw the worry and disquiet in her eyes. “She’s got 101 degrees,” Glenda said. “Fell asleep as soon as we got home. Yet she’s not comfortable. Moves and mutters but doesn’t wake.”

They walked to the bedroom. Tiny was sleeping. She had thrown off the covers and had her arms and legs stretched out wide. Her pajamas were damp with sweat. Abby put her hand on her forehead, and the heat she felt send a shiver through her body. Tiny opened her eyes.

“Hi Tiny… I’ve come to keep you company.”

“My head aches. My back hurts.”

“Let’s take your temperature.”

Glenda immediately slid the thermometer under Tiny’s tongue. “It’s a hundred and three,” whispered Glenda.

“Let’s give her a glass of cold water.” Tiny gulped it down, spilling onto her neck and chest. Then she lay back and closed her eyes.

Glenda motioned Abby to come and talk outside the room. “I never saw anything like it. Do you think we should take her to the hospital? Or call Dr. Bear?”

“Yes, call Dr. Bear,” Abby answered. “Good idea. Can’t hurt. Yes, let’s see if she’ll come.”

“Thank you so much for being here with us! Please stay.” Glenda hugged Abby, and picked up her phone. “I’ve already found the number. I knew I should call.”

Dr. Bear was seeing patients at the hospital and couldn’t come to the phone, but the secretary said she would have her call back soon. Hours went by. Glenda tried to do school work but kept getting up and pacing around. Tiny woke a few times and gulped down a glass of water, and fell asleep again. Dr. Bear phoned when the sunlight was fading and the room was in twilight. She promised to visit on her way back from work, and hung up immediately. Her voice had been full of stress.

Meanwhile Tiny’s temperature had gone up to 103 degrees. Glenda waited by the front door.

The Red Jewel - Episode 1

December 12, 2019 by John Kixmiller in Eco Fiction

 
  THE RED JEWEL
Episode 1
  Written By John KixMiller
    © 2020 All Rights Reserved

FREE TO DO WHAT?

A few hours later Abby’s deep sleep was interrupted by the church bells. Her first impulse was to jump up, dress, and hurry across the churchyard to the morning service.

The bishop will be speaking! He said he’d support me, now let’s see what he does.

She looked out the small window at Bridge Avenue. Once again the sidewalk was crowded, and a news team was trying to interview and video the new arrivals.

Hmmm… The bishop said he’d take the attention, get some of this scrutiny off my back. Why not just stay away and let him do it? I don’t feel like getting involved in all that again. I have no energy for it. I think I’ll just go back to sleep.

Her mind flashed briefly on the incredible events of the night before, but it was too overwhelming to think about. In a few minutes she was sound asleep.

Abby awoke in the fading light of the setting sun. She was starving, and longed to walk down to Sammy’s Coffee shop and order a sandwich and fried potatoes. But her mind was still overwhelmed. She felt like a new person, beginning a new phase of life, and wasn’t sure how to act, how to talk to her friends. What if Phoebe and Stephanie and Nico and Sulay want to talk. What can I say about myself? How can I describe the last two days? I’m not ready, and don’t know how to get ready.

She made a cheese omelet with fried finger beans, sliced two apples, and covered a thick slice of bread with apple butter. I’ve never loved eating so much! She followed it up with a cup of Breakfast Mixture tea, extra strong on the cocoa, and felt ready to face the day.

I’m free! But free to do what? It’s almost night, and I don’t know what to say to anyone.

She looked around her room. Alex’s blood-red print of the Human One embracing a crowd of lost souls held her gaze. This really happened!! Somewhere, somehow. It’s not just me. Alex saw it in a dream. And the muttering voices are gone. I’m free and it feels wonderful. But free to do what?

Her eyes roamed around the room again, as if she might see a clue, a sign to answer her question. But nothing appeared to help her. Finally, she decided to take a walk around the churchyard, look at her gardens and the wild area. I wonder if the stalkers are still around. I wonder if the Morphy organization will kill our whole effort. What’s happened with the trustees, and the fate of Tuck and myself and the Youth Council? We’re really trying to make something good! Please God, save our project, however small and futile we may be. We’re trying!

Bridge Avenue was deserted. No stalkers leaned against the front gate. The benches in front of the Middletown Standard were empty. Abby walked right up to the wrought iron fence, but did not see a soul. But the flowers were thriving. Marigolds, Cosmos, Snapdragons, and a few tall sunflowers with their heads heavy with seeds… They were gorgeous, very much alive.

Turning around, Abby walked back to the privet fort and down the narrow path through the wild area to the Secret Place and the wrought iron door. She looked out on the dirt path and Fred Peterson’s cornfield. All was still. The crickets played their song, coming in waves.

In the light of the rising moon Abby stared through the brambles, looking for the hidden door to the underground, the domain of the mapstick. Was that secret entrance safe? So much – more than she could imagine – depended on its safety. The Great Gray Owl hooted, and hooted again. Abby seemed to hear the owl say, “Welcome back! Glad to see you! I’m in charge here, and all is as it should be. Nothing to worry about.” Abby pictured the great gray owl as the guardian of the entrance to the underworld.

With that reassurance she headed back up the path. As she emerged on the open lawn she heard a faint knocking, and saw the dark form of Reverend Tuck at her door.

She called to him softly: “I’m here.”

“Ah! I saw your light on, and wondered if you were back from your trip. Perhaps you haven’t heard the news.”

“What news? I’ve heard nothing.”

“Please, come and drink a glass of cider with me. Janet has made the most delicious apple pie.”

“Yes! Can’t wait.”

They walked to the side door leading to Tuck’s small dining area and kitchen on the side. He served the promised desert and sat down, giving her a close look. “You look… a little different. I mean it in a good way. A bit more… happy…”

She smiled. “About this news… I was just hoping to hear something good.”

“Well, brace yourself, there’s a lot of good news. It will take a while to describe.”

“Come on, Reverend Tuck! I’m burning with curiosity!”

“I’ll summarize as best I can, and we’ll go into detail another time. I’ve had a long day. But I’m very glad to see you back, and be able to describe this new landscape. Okay, first of all, Bishop Beckett stunned the congregation and visitors with two things: he fully supported your interview with Sara Williams. Your attack on the idea that Christianity presents the trinity as an all-male divinity residing in heaven, and the earth as all female and a source of evil… well, the bishop called this a heresy, and backed it up with readings and interpretations of scripture. He actually said – or at least hinted – that the divine is more like a family unity, male and female mother and father, son and daughter. And he agreed that the battle against climate change, the mission to save life on earth, must be fought in religion and spirituality as well as in science and politics. He said, “mother earth is holy, sacred, and the destruction of creation is evil. There must be a religious taboo on actions and practices that are destroying the future lives of our children.”

Abby stared. “Oh my God. He did! He really did come through! But won’t this ruin his career? A lot of powerful people aren’t going to like this. You should have heard the trustees of Evansville College. They’re a hopeless case. They can’t understand this at all.”

“We shall see. Bishop Beckett is a very subtle man, hard to predict. But he thinks things through. I’m sure he knows the powers he’s offending. He must have a plan of some kind, though he has not revealed it to me.”

Abby shook her head and whistled. “Wow… it’s hard to believe. Good news indeed!”

“And that’s not all. As the congregation buzzed with noise, conversation of all sorts, even angry shouts, the bishop suddenly announced that he had finished his investigation of the disputed election. You could have heard a pin drop. The silence was total. Then he said: “Our church hierarchy, the national and global leadership of our denomination, has seen the evidence we have gathered, including an analysis of all votes and follow up interviews with hundreds of voters. They have decided to disqualify most of the votes for one candidate, and declare the other candidate the winner. Therefore, our new trustee will be… Ellen Hall. She has graciously decided to accept this honor, despite the harassment that she and her family have endured. And I want to make it very clear that we are providing her with police protection, and will prosecute any such harassment in the future.”

Tuck presented this quote from the bishop with drama and emotion. He even had tears in his eyes. Abby stood up, clapped her hands, and walked around the room. “I can’t believe it!” she cried. “It’s too good to be true!”

“Now, brace yourself,” Tuck went on. “There’s still more, and here we have your amazing mother to thank. Let me warn you that this last piece of news is not public. So far, it’s a deep secret, still being investigated. But one conclusion is clear: Two of our trustees, including the treasurer, have for years concealed most of the church endowment, and as a result the interest and dividends from those investments has not been available for church maintenance. Please! Not a word about this. A criminal investigation of possible fraud and embezzlement is now under way. There’s no telling how long that will take. But one thing we do know: Ellen Hall is our new trustee, and joins Fred Peterson, Tom Winkle, and Geraldine Bear as the majority deciding any issues that may arise. Thus…” Tuck pumped his hands in the air, “You and I will not be fired! Our plans can proceed. We will have funds to renovate the school building!”

Abby was in tears. She wanted to give Reverend Tuck a hug, but knew he would refuse any such demonstration of affection and mutual joy. They both began making extravagant plans, interrupting each other, hardly able to contain themselves.

Finally Tuck said, “This is too much happiness for both of us, and it’s getting late. You’ll be back at work early tomorrow. Oh, there’s one more very strange piece of news that may affect your problems living here in the churchyard, and perhaps my problems too. Yesterday evening, Milton Morphy’s new office tower in River City burned. Not just a little fire, a major disaster. They hadn’t finished it yet, and it appears that no one was on the upper floors, no workman were there, and those few on the ground floor escaped with no injury." Abby was stunned, could hardly believe it. "But how..oh my God..."

Tuck had the answer ready."This insulation of the whole building, what they call cladding, caught fire and spread rapidly. It was all on TV, and may be a total loss. I’m no expert on these things, but I imagine that Milton Morphy and his organization may not be bothering with Middletown for quite a while. You’ll probably find that the surveillance of both of us has vanished. Actually, the people you called ‘the stalkers’ were already gone. Chief Santiago has been trying to identify these strange men staking out the churchyard. Your friends have published many photos, and our local police have discovered that no one knows who these people are. So anyway, Morphy has many reasons to leave us alone.”

“Oh stop!” Abby moaned. “I can bear it I’m so happy.”

“So, feel free to see your friends, walk about with no fear. But remember, be very careful with this information. The less said the better.”

She blew him a kiss. “My lips are sealed.”

Abby and Wendy - Episode 43

November 19, 2019 by John Kixmiller in Eco Fiction

THE HUMAN ONE

The faint light of early dawn created some visibility in Abby’s cottage. She unrolled Alex’s large woodcut print and spread it out on the floor, placing coffee cups on the corners. A note from Alex was included. She could just make out the printing in ink:

“Abby, last night I woke after only an hour or two of sleep. A dream was vividly in my mind and I was full of energy. I had a vision of a dark cavern full of a crowd of people in distress. They were packed together in a faint bluish light, talking aimlessly in a frantic way. I had a strong sensation that you were there, just a feeling of your presence. The throng seemed to expect some momentous event, calling out, “the human one, the human one!” And suddenly a figure appeared behind them, tall and shedding a marvelous light throughout the mob. The figure held out his hands as if the embrace the suffering multitude. There seemed to be no children. The people were dressed almost the same, like prisoners. The face and the light were warm, giving an overwhelming sense of relief, as if to reassure us that all is okay. This feeling inspired me to carve an impression of the scene and take a print. It’s now hours later and
the print is not dry, but I cover it with a second sheet. Please, delicately take the sheets apart so the protective sheet doesn’t stick.

I know the print is rather rough, even clumsy – in fact, most of my work is rather rough – but you seem to like some of it (I hope). But I’m not rushing this into your backpack as an ordinary gift. I go to all this trouble because in a strange way you seemed to actually be there. I have an idea that this may mean something to you. If not, feel free to just forget it as the fantasy of an overheated imagination (something that often happens to me).

I’m thrilled to see you again, and I hope we may see each other often. My house is always open to you, and my sister will be jealous she didn’t have a chance to see you. She hardly ever leaves River City, but someday we’ll take a trip there. Lluvia and I were discussing it. She thinks we should make a plan.

Well, that’s it. I rush this into your backpack.

Your grateful friend, Alex”

Abby read this letter three times, and then turned to the print. The outside sheet was stuck to the inner sheet. It seemed to take forever to separate them. But finally an image in bright red ink glowed in the dim light. She recognized the scene, a different angle on what she had experienced.

I was looking the other way, she thought. I was dealing with that liar, the malicious faker, that enemy of life. ‘The human project is a failure’, he said. But Alex must have actually seen the bringer of that marvelous light, like nothing I’ve ever felt.

She stared at the tall red figure, with light spreading out like wings. That face seems... well... kind. Reassuring. This must be The Human One.

The light of the rising sun began to stream through the window. Abby felt astonished. A new day is coming. I’m completely bewildered. How is this possible? What does it mean? All I know is that I’m glowing with happiness. And that’s all I need to know. I’m free of the voices and my terror and despair. I pray I can do something good with all that lies ahead.

Her eyes could barely stay open. She fixed the print to the wall near the end of her bed with pushpins. It radiated life like blood, living and throbbing. It had large margins, and in the bottom margin she saw the title, The Human One, and in the right hand corner #1 was written, and then the little design Alex used as a signature.

I’ve got to ask him about that, she thought as she lay down, and floated into a calm sleep.

THE END OF BOOK 4, ABBY AND WENDY.
EPISODES FROM BOOK 5, THE RED JEWEL,
ARE COMING SOON

ECO-FANTASY ADVENTURE SERIES

Abby and Wendy - Episode 42

November 12, 2019 by John Kixmiller in Eco Fiction

THE REFUGE OF LOST SOULS

Instantly she stood in total darkness. Terror overwhelmed her. The light of the mapstick wasn’t shining. But very slowly she saw the blue tip of the staff glow, and shine brighter and brighter, until a wide passageway was illuminated all around her. The voices seemed to come from just ahead. In only a few steps the passageway began to open, and gradually became a vast cavern, so wide and long that she could see no end to it.

In a few more steps the immediate details were shockingly clear. There was a river of dark water, moving slowly and sluggishly, just crawling along. And the voices rose from across the river, where an endless multitude of vague human shapes pressed right down to the edge of the water. Hundreds of shapes crowded back as far as the eye could see, farther than even the mapstick could reach. And Abby could see their eyes. They were all looking at her.

An old man with a long beard was moving a small boat across the river. He wore a robe, and stood up near the bow, pushing the boat along with a pole like a long staff. Abby saw his eyes looking back at her. He had a calm, benevolent expression, showing none of the noisy confusion of the throng behind him.

Abby waited. He landed the boat on the damp clay soil, and walked toward her. She did not move.

“Well,” he said, “what can I do for you?” His voice was calm and gentle.

“What... what kind of place is this?” Abby tried to be calm, but felt that her voice was shrill, both frightened and hostile.

“You could say it’s my job. I maintain the last stop on the flight from life. There has to be a refuge for lost souls.”

“What are these people doing here?”

“They are... escaping the pain. You also are fleeing the meaningless agony.”

“So, these aren’t dead people?”

“I have nothing to do with dead people. I’m interested in the failure of the living. You see, the human project is a failure. A part of the person loses all hope. Something becomes too heavy a burden to bear, and that soul sinks all the way down to my humble refuge. You know, of course, this is all an illusion. Even I mean nothing, and I run this place. I’ll tell you a secret: I also am a member of the club of lost souls. And you’ll appreciate this, an even bigger secret: You... are also a member. Yes, you’re a visitor, but you’re here already. Why do you think you can hear us? Because you’re one of us! And you think you’re so pure and above it all.”

Abby was stung by the malice and contempt vibrating in that gentle voice. “Well, well,” she said. “You almost had me fooled. But you see, I don’t think I’m pure and above it all. I admit, I hardly know what I’m doing. I am a lost soul, but that’s not all there is to me. And I can tell, that’s not all there is to you, or any of these people.”

“These aren’t people. They are meaningless shades of nothing.”

“Then why do you care to convince me? Why keep this discussion going? You actually care! And I do too. I’m here to do something, and you’re trying to prevent me, trick me...”

“So go ahead!!” The old man’s voice rose in anger. His face seemed to be transforming. “Take all these people! They’re only here because they can’t take this evil world, so they sink to the bottom where they can be no one. Do you want responsibility for them? That will include responsibility for yourself! But have it your way.”

Meanwhile a small form, walking with a slow limp, with a face hanging down, approached along the waterside. He spoke softly in the old man’s ear. “Listen. I tell you, she’s opening the door... you know what that means...”

“Shut up. She can hear you,” whispered the old man. Abby saw he was transforming. He didn’t look like an old man any more. To her astonishment, he looked younger, very handsome and intimidating. He was elegant, dressed in smart clothes. He grew taller, and towered over Abby. What is going on?

“You’re in way over your head,” he told her. “You think you can get out of here with that stick you’re carrying? Watch!”

Other figures were arriving from both sides, barely clothed, muttering and jabbering to each other. Abby felt they needed to communicate, but couldn’t get their meaning across. They struggled to be heard. More and more appeared, until a thick mob were crowded around Abby on the riverbank. And more kept coming, pressing in upon her until she began to panic. She couldn’t find a way to speak, did not know what to say, and could not understand. She felt like she was drowning.

“A little more than you bargained for, isn’t it!” The voice of the tall form of a man spoke suavely and maliciously. “Go ahead, try it, lead them to safety, if you can find such a place in this world of pain...”

The thin wisp of a man was shifting his feet, stretching his neck, looking in all directions. Others were crowded around him, speaking anxiously. The thin man looked up at the towering figure and yelled over the clamor, “I tell you! The door is wide open! Watch out! The Human One, the Human One is coming!”

Suddenly there was silence. People looked at each other, anxiously but full of expectation. And then everyone spoke at once. “The Human One! Is it possible? Can it be?”

The tall man looked around calmly. “You think this girl could open the door? She’s a nothing, a nobody.”

Suddenly he froze, a look of shock on his face. In the wink of an eye, a powerful, glorious light, like no other, shone through the landscape and all the people. The figures around Abby were looking toward the entrance, but Abby watched tall man duck, and then shrink to invisibility. She felt the entire multitude, including herself, transported to a different place, a different world.

In an instant Abby came back to herself, still sitting on the crate in front of the Dreamstone Mirror. She had no desire to look back into it, and shielded her eyes with her hand. After replacing the burlap, she took stock of the situation. She felt free, liberated from the agonies that had been gnawing at her, terrifying her for so long. Her energy had returned. It was morning in a new world. The beautiful light of the mapstick shone across the cavern, across a ceiling as high and full of light as the sky itself. This light was certainly nothing compared to the light she had just seen. That was of a different order altogether, way beyond description. But the light of the mapstick was her own, her friend, her beautiful companion. An eagerness to be back home rose up inside her.

The map inside her head was understandable and reassuring. She felt no trace of weariness, and knew where she was going. The voice of the mapstick didn’t need to speak. The way home was like a stroll in the park. The underworld held no fear.

Abby slithered out of the tunnel to the surface of the earth, and carefully replaced the stone. She left no traces behind. It was still dark, but the moonlight cast faint shadows. The leaves were dripping and the air was cool. Her backpack was wet, and she anxiously remembered that Alex had left her a present. She silently returned to her cottage and opened the backpack. A cardboard tube covered in tape had been thrust inside. She opened one end and shook out a large roll of Alex’s printing paper.

Abby and Wendy - Episode 41

October 24, 2019 by John Kixmiller in Eco Fiction

FOLLOWING THE VOICES

A thin white mist covered the land. The pale glow of the moon could hardly be seen. Abby saw it was the perfect time to be invisible, and enter the underground unseen. Still, she took every precaution in choosing her way to the back door of the churchyard. Drizzle was falling through the warm and humid air. She felt the key in her pants pocket as she surveyed the churchyard wall from the cornfield. Nothing moved. Without a sound she crossed the dirt path, unlocked the door, and stepped inside. Standing still, she heard the rain and the wind in the leaves. The click from locking the door was almost inaudible. Things were going perfectly.

Abby walked along the Birdwatchers’ Path to the cave of vines, and crawled inside. Gently pushing aside some branches, she found the narrow opening into the thicket of brambles and vines. She could barely see, but knew where she was going. In moments she touched the large flat stone covering the entrance to the underground.

A very faint murmuring had begun. As she pulled the stone aside, the murmuring increased. The darkness below was thick, and seemed almost infinite... She went in feet first so she could pull the stone back into place, but kept getting stuck. Her backpack was in the way. She took it off and pushed it under brambles and leaves. Saying a prayer, she slid down the hole and sealed the entrance with the rock. Claustrophobia overwhelmed her, but there was nothing to do but go on, sliding slowly down and down.

Finally, she reached the level path, and by feeling the dirt wall found the entrance to her small underground room. It seemed years since she had been there, but had been only a week ago. Groping blindly to the corner, she unwrapped the mapstick. The light gleamed with astonishing beauty and clarity. Abby saw the map of the underground in her mind, and knew it was a just tiny part of an inconceivably enormous world. The voices were suddenly louder. They seemed to be coming from a certain spot, somewhere below Hidden Valley.

But the voices were coming from other spots as well! Both louder and softer, bigger and smaller. It was a cacophony of sounds, totally confusing. Abby had no idea what to do, but in her heart, she felt that she must do something. Otherwise the voices would haunt her. Perhaps she could find her way back to the fork in the tunnel where Wendy had warned her. But perhaps Wendy was just warning her not to chase the voices. They had other big plans for that day.

Abby sat in the old chair, amazed that it didn’t collapse beneath her. Everything in that underground room looked a hundred years old. There is a quality about this place, she thought. The mapstick seems more powerful, my mind is working. Let’s see if I can find just one good clue. The mapstick will help me. What clues do I have? Voices coming from so many places, but one is the strongest. And that location may be the Root Cavern, with the writing on the walls and the colossal dreamstone sphere. Definitely a powerful spot. But I’ve been there and heard no voices. I didn’t sense the presence of what I’m dealing with today...

Her mind went blank. She heard the opening lines of the rhyme: When you go down under jutting stone
Following the way alone

In a flash she realized that it was a song. It had a tune she had heard before, probably a very long time ago. She repeated it in her mind. No instruments, just a voice, perhaps an old voice, telling stories. The rhyme is part of a story. Grandfather Walker! Sonny’s father! It must be him. The Young Warriors’ Club, long, long ago.

She knew that with luck she could catch the rest of the song. She let it play in her mind, feeling the words at her fingertips. And then:

When you go down under jutting stone Following the way alone
Very few have found the way
From the stream of ghosts back to open day

A warning everyone should know There is no safe way to go
The invisible door I’ll tell you true Depends on what’s inside of you

Look for the stone that’s on the wall
If you’re the one who hears the call
Don’t forget when the voices start
Take a look inside your heart
They come from the lake of broken hearts

Got it! Got it! Abby let it play over and over. Okay... now what does this tell me? Lots of things! It was a part of the Young Warriors Club. It was probably a part of a story that included the Ghost Girl. No one else explored underground. I was the only Queen of the Underworld. The voices must be really there, if Grandfather Walker made up that rhyme. No... he didn’t make it up. It was passed down to us from long ago.

This rhyme is advice from the ancient past. What can I learn? Well, the voices come from the Stream of Ghosts. It’s dangerous, very hard to return. There’s no safe way except the invisible door, and what happens next depends on what’s inside you. If you hear the call, look for the stone on the wall. That sounds like dreamstone, definitely a door. Maybe that’s a way. When the voices start, take a look inside your heart. They come from the lake of broken hearts. Okay... the voices have already begun. I hear the call from a place of broken hearts. I need to look inside my heart.

Abby immediately realized that she was living with a broken heart. She was jinxed and disappointed in love, and had very little confidence in her mission from Wendy. But without that mission she really had no life to live. She would be a failure, and it would be almost impossible to recover and begin again. Part of her was depressed most of the time.

Okay, that song is certainly meant for me. Do I hear the voices because I have a broken heart? And how will I get out of there? I want to do something and then come back. I’m certainly not looking to stay, so... I must not be completely depressed.

All right, what’s next? Hmm... I would like the best invisible door I can find, and that is the dreamstone sphere that Wendy showed me. It’s already helping me understand myself. I need to go back there, and with the help of the mapstick I can probably find it. I can see it on the map in my mind, I’m pretty sure. But I don’t have any time and energy to waste.Abby studied the map again, trying to be sure of her route. I don’t dare get lost! And even if I don’t get lost, I can’t endure the hours of hiking there and back. I want to be at my best. Maybe I should just get some sleep and do this tomorrow night. No. I can’t bear living like this.

She listened closely to the voices again. The sounds were in the shape of words and sentences, but she couldn’t understand anything. Wave after wave of gibberish washed over her. Even the emotional content was obscure. The result for Abby was truly frightening, nightmarish. I simply must deal with this. If I don’t confront it, I’ll be sucked into it.

The voice of the mapstick spoke in her mind: I’ll show you a shorter way, much shorter. Look at the map again.

She stared at the three-dimensional maze of caverns and tunnels, full of signs and signals whose meaning she could only guess. Certain caverns appeared with a bright light, and some like faint stars she could barely see. It was hard to keep track of the levels of her route. There were passageways that moved from one level to another. Some displayed a glittering light that Abby guessed were rivers.

Trust me, came the voice. Remember how I got you to Wendy’s garden? I know a way.

She felt that she had no choice but to have faith. If she rejected the voice of the mapstick, she would never find the source of the muttering. The incomprehensible voices would continue to pursue her. Her only course of action would be to flee to Wendy again for help.

I need to at least try, she told herself. If I can’t find the way I’ll return, or take the route to Wendy’s.

And so she set off down the warm dirt tunnel. A rat scurried out of the way. She passed by the trap door over her head to Sammy’s Coffee Shop. After a long walk downhill she was under the river. The clamoring voices grew louder and louder. But since she had made a decision, her mind was clear.

The tunnel opened up into the damp caverns with water dripping down from the ceiling, making shapes like icicles. Don’t miss the turn,came the voice. On your right.

At that moment there was a passageway on her right, one she remembered from her journey home with Chi Chi. But am I going all the way back toward the jutting stone, and then all the way to the Root Cavern, and then all the way back? I can’t do it. Of course not. There’s another way. You’ll see.
It’s hard for me to trust anything or anyone, Abby told the voice.

I am only a part of yourself, a part you need to listen to. And after you pass under the haunted house, watch for the hard-right turn.

The mapstick shone with great power, shedding a light that was soft, but illuminated everything down to the smallest detail. The slightly blue glow was easy on the eyes, not at all like a spotlight or the headlight of a car. It had the same illumination at the tip of her staff as it did on objects at a distance.

Abby found the right turn to another gentle tunnel cleared of stalagmites and stalactites, a way that must have been used by people long ago. The breeze began to smell like cool water.

I must be on the way to the river from Hidden Valley, a very difficult hike.

No, watch for a left turn. You’re going deep under the Horn. You’ve heard about it before. You’ll be there soon.

Ah! thought Abby. I’m not going to the Root Cavern. I’m going to the dreamstone mirror! I have indeed heard about it. Phoebe went there a few months ago, and I was so jealous. Oh, I can’t wait...

She almost missed the left turn. It was no more than a hole in the wall. Coming closer, she saw a level tunnel that suddenly seemed to end. Crawling slowly forward, she recited the Jutting Stone poem to prepare herself, and keep her mind off the terror of getting stuck, imprisoned far from rescue.

Suddenly the floor just ahead seemed to drop off into nowhere. Approaching it slowly, she saw a steep downhill climb, full of rock and clay. The ceiling was far above her. This level of the tunnel had collapsed long ago.

But Abby had climbed in places like this before. She used the staff, her other hand, both feet, and moved from one sitting position to another. It was arduous but safe. This can’t last forever. But it felt that way.

The avalanche finally leveled off, and she could walk. A few minutes went by. With the corner of her eye she saw what seemed to be a hole in the wall on her left. I recall you have to crawl into the Mirror Cave. Only two entrances, both of them terrible. But at least I’m almost there. Here we go.

On hands and knees with the mapstick leading the way, she crawled for about a hundred yards. With no transition the tunnel opened up into a glorious cavern. The mapstick shone across wide oval shape and a high ceiling. Gemstones shone with many colors like a thousand stars. It was breathtaking.

The voices were right next her, as if only a thin curtain separated her from an aimless mob, a million lost souls. But there was no sign of dreamstone on the ground level. She walked around the oval and stretched her cramped muscles. A couple of old wooden chairs and wooden crates made a few places to sit. Burnt out candles left wax on some chinks in the rock wall. And a giant piece of burlap covered a whole piece of the wall.

That’s over eight feet high, and twice as wide. What’s it doing there? She pulled back a corner and saw the smooth translucent blue of dreamstone, shining like a glowing planet in the light of the mapstick.

Oh my God. I have such little faith. Here it is! How do you get this covering off the wall? She put three crates on top of each other and inspected what turned out to be hooks in the rocky surface. She gently pulled the burlap, and it suddenly fell, exposing an immense dreamstone surface, flat and glowing like a mirror in the light.

Don’t look, she told herself. Get ready first. Powers that be, come and help me! Oh! Please let me do something good. Please, I promise, I’ll struggle to do good my life long.

There was a crate about ten feet from the giant dreamstone door looming in front of her. She sat down, took a deep breath, and raised her eyes.

Abby and Wendy - Episode 40

October 16, 2019 by John Kixmiller in Eco Fiction

SAILING IN THE LIVING WORLD

Lluvia slowly motored up the left bank of the river. “We’ll put some distance between us and the college, and then we’ll sail. There’s a nice wind blowing upstream.”

The sky was overcast with thick gray clouds. Moisture was in the air. The sun was in hiding. Time went by. Abby began to calm down. The murmuring had receded far away, barely to be heard at all. Yet it was still there.

The prospect of sailing began to interest Abby. She had been longing to try it for months, and now examined the mast and the boom with the sail wrapped around it, lying almost under their feet. Lluvia noticed Abby’s attention start to perk up. Keeping one hand on the outboard motor, she lifted the boom and began to draw it back over the stern of the boat. Abby got the idea and helped slide it out from under the benches. Lluvia told her how to clamp the boom and the sail to the mast.

“We’ll raise the sail going into the wind. It’s safer and easier.” She made a U-turn and suddenly the boat was headed downstream. “Pull on that rope. It’s called the halyard.” The rope was attached to a pulley at the top of the mast. Abby slowly raised the sail, which fluttered in the wind. “Okay, take that rope. It’s called the sheet. Let the sail out slowly on the left side, that’s where the wind will catch it.”

Lluvia quickly removed the motor and slid a wooden tiller into place. She looked carefully ahead and behind, and then made a slow U-turn into the middle of the river. “Let the boom out little by little.” Suddenly the wind filled the sail. “More, more. Keep going!” Soon the sail was out at right angles to the boat. Lluvia guided the boat up the left side of the river. The boat rocked against the rolling water, splashing up over the bow.

Abby was thrilled. They made very slow progress, but moving against the current it felt as though they were going fast. Everything suddenly seemed alive, as if they were part of a new world.

“Does this boat have a name?” she asked.

“This boat is brand new. We just finished it a week ago. I’ve been waiting to name it, and paint my logo and decorations. Think of a name.”

“How about ‘the world is alive’?”
“Very nice, but too long.”
“’The Living World’?”
“Mmmm... not a normal name, but... maybe. In fact, yes, that’s it!”

Lluvia was enthusiastic. “It’s the Living World! Our Living World.” “This is fun. I feel so much better.”
“Thank God. I saw you struggle. Want to talk about it?” “Not now, not yet. Maybe later.”

“I’ll make a deal,” Lluvia offered. “I’ll give you a long sailing lesson, teach you everything. And then you talk about it.”

“How long will it take us to get back to Middletown?” “As long as you like.”
“Really? What if I want it to take a very long time?” “No problem. All the better.”

“It’s a deal.”
“Promise?”
“Yes, I promise. You’ll help me.”
“Okay, Let’s start. First, I think we should wear life jackets. I have to

teach you the difference between jibing and coming about.” She grabbed two orange vests from a storage compartment in the bow, and they fastened them with Velcro. “Now,” Lluvia went on, “notice that the wind is gusting, and blowing on our backs, and the sail is out wide on the left side. We make at least some progress against the current, and don’t have to tack back and forth across the river the way we would if the wind were coming at our faces.”

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“You’ll get it once you actually see it. Mmm... let’s say a boat is coming downstream right at us. Of course, they’re supposed to stay in the middle of the river, but maybe they’re trying to pass somebody. So, we have to get out of the way. We can’t turn sharp to the left because we’ll run into the bank. No choice but to turn right. Watch what happens.”

Lluvia looked up and back, and then slowly turned right toward the middle of the river. “Pull in the sail a bit once you see it start to flutter. They call it luffing.” The Living World was now heading at a 45 degree angle to the opposite bank, the sail still on the left side, pulled closer to the boat. As they drew near the bank, Lluvia said, “Now watch this. Let’s say we have to turn left. And pull your head down low. Very low.” She turned sharply back across the river.

“Pull in the sheet! Duck! More, more!” Suddenly the wind at their backs caught the sail and sent the boom flying over their heads to the right-hand side. The jolt tipped the boat dangerously on its side, and almost tore the sheet from Abby’s hands.

“That’s called a jibe,” Lluvia told her. “Lesson number one.”

Almost three hours went by. During the last hour Abby was sailing the Living World, and loving it. Lluvia talked non-stop. No disasters occurred.

“I’m starving,” Lluvia said. “We’re almost at Half Moon. We’ll tie up at the dock on the park side. I’d better show you how to safely slow down to dock.” She hugged the left side of the river, and soon they approached a pier with empty spaces. “We’ve got to time this right. Get ready to lower the sail and pull in the boom.”

Abby took the rope holding the sail to the top of the mast off the cleat.

“Get ready... ready... Now!”

She let go of the rope and pulled the sail to the deck. The Living World quickly lost headway against the current, but they were near the shore and the wind was behind them. They slowly drifted into the dock. Abby held it off with her hands, and then stepped off with the bow rope, and tied it to the cleat. Lluvia used an oar to bring the stern to the dock.

“Success!” she shouted. An attendant came trotting up. “Oh, it’s you, Lluvia. “Everything okay?”

“We’re good. I hope Brenda’s is still open.”
“Until dark.”
“Great. Let’s go, Abby.”
Abby was still sitting in the boat, feeling no desire to mix with

people. “Oh, I think I’ll just stay here. I’m not very hungry, just bring me something.”

Lluvia gave her a long look and nodded, and then walked ashore. Abby moped alone in the boat. How am I going to describe my problem to Lluvia? Should I even try? It’s so strange and complicated. Should Lluvia know about the mapstick? Well, she actually knows already. She’s trustworthy and discreet, and I really need somebody. It’s all too crazy, too much for me. I think I’m going crazy.

Abby stared out at the water. Sailing today I actually started to feel happy. Like a normal person, part of the living world. I’ve got to do this more often. I’ve got to trust Lluvia.

Abby sat in a daze for what seemed like a long time. Eventually Lluvia returned holding a full paper bag with both hands. “Best tamales in the universe! Coffee! Potato squash chips, lots of them. Apple cider. Come on, take this bag, we’ll eat in the boat.” She handed the bag to Abby and stepped down. “I’m going to hand out stuff and you’re going to eat. It’s mandatory. I’m the captain.”

“Oh my...” Abby began to smell the hot food. “Oh, there’s so much of it. And I owe you money!”

“No! I’m the captain and you’re the crew. I give the orders. Start with some cider and a cheese tamale. Munch on these delicious chips.”

The tamales were fresh and hot, each one wrapped in corn husks. Abby began to pick at the food. Lluvia had finished two tamales and a large handful of chips while Abby was just getting started.

“Hmm, this is good,” Abby said softly. “I’m starting to get hungry.”

Lluvia waited silently and patiently. Abby looked away, out at the river flowing by. She was wondering: Where do I even start to tell this story? I can’t say a word. But I can eat!

“Finish that second tamale,” Lluvia ordered. “It’s mandatory. Once you’re finished, I’m going to tell you something important. If you want to hear it, eat!”

Abby stuffed herself and then leaned back against the mast. They sat close together in the thin boat. Lluvia spoke in a low voice: “Since you can’t talk, I’m going to tell you your own story. If I start to get it wrong, interrupt me, and add details I’m leaving out. Got it?”

“You’re going to tell me my story? We haven’t seen each other in years. But... I really hope you can. I’ve got to hear this.”

“You know,” began Lluvia, “I’ve been following your recent career, and I’ve got lots of sources. Plus, I remember you very well, back when I was River Girl and you were... who? Come on, say it.”

“I was... Ghost Girl.” Abby was almost in tears. To have Lluvia back as a friend, someone who knew much of her secret life, almost made her sob with joy. She felt relieved of part of her burden. Lluvia clearly had a plan for this conversation, and continued:

“In the story, River Girl spent a lot of time...where?”

“Well, lots of places. She had a whole team of people on the river. They had a hide-out on an island in the wetland. They explored, and they showed up with a fleet of boats in emergencies. Other young warriors would join them to help people and deal with problems. I was just thinking about that today. You remember, when I spoke to the crowd, and promised an armada for the U.N. conferences?”

Lluvia was smiling. “I sure do remember! That’s my idea. You picked it up out of thin air. I’ve been preparing people from River City to Fisher’s Island, all across the wetland and up to Northern State University. We have an organization with no name. People with boats love my idea, and now it’s your idea too. We’re a team.”

“But what do I do on this team?”
“Ah! That’s where your story comes in.”
“Well, go ahead. Tell it.”
“Okay. But you’ll have to answer questions... like, tell me: Where

was the Ghost Girl from? Where did she spend time?”
“Sonny was just asking me. She was from everywhere.”
“And her mother was...?”
“The Good Fairy.”
“And the Good Fairy spent a lot of time... where?”
“She could go everywhere. She could fly, and knew what was

happening all over. Animals were her spies. She could zoom into a situation just in the nick of time.”

“And the Ghost Girl did what?”

“She learned from the Good Fairy. But the Ghost Girl could never do all the things that the Good Fairy could do.”

“But still, the Ghost Girl had special talents. She could even do things the Good Fairly couldn’t do.”

“Really? I don’t remember that.”

“The Good Fairy had a special wand with a magical light at the tip. And the Ghost Girl had a wand too.”

“Mmm... that’s interesting. She did have a sort of wand, more like a staff, and it had a light too. It’s strange I had forgotten that.”

“But you just remembered recently because...?”

“The mapstick. The wand wasn’t so big, but... yes, it was very similar.”

“And the Ghost Girl’s wand had special powers too, right?”

Abby was getting all choked up. She looked away, trying to control herself.

Luvia gave her a careful look. “I’m starting to hit the problem, right?”

Abby gave a sob, or a moan, and tears fell. “This is too hard. It’s scary.”

“Okay, just one more question. These special powers... Where did the Ghost Girl use them?”

“Oh! The wand shone in the dark. At night! And...” Abby sobbed again. “Underground. Especially underground.”

“Tell me about the underground.”

“It was a secret from most people. They were afraid, so the Ghost Girl was queen of the underworld. She could go places nobody else could go. She could travel here and there with no one knowing. And she could find out things, enter the dream dimension, foretell the future, and contact other powers, both good and bad. And she could help to heal people, at least sometimes. People go lost down there, like in a dream, and the Ghost Girl could find them. She even...” Tears streamed down her face. “She even found herself.”

Abby could no longer speak. She put her face in her hands. The attendant called from the dock. “Everything okay?”

“It’s good to cry sometimes,” Lluvia replied. She pulled a bandana from the tiny storage compartment and gave it to Abby. “Dry your eyes. Drink cider. You’ll see your way more clearly now.”

After a few minutes Abby said, “I’m remembering things in a flood. I don’t know why I couldn’t think of them before.”

“You remember things when you need them.”
“Mmmm... how did you get to be so smart?”
“I’ve always been smart. I should say...’we’ve always been smart’.

And now we have to use it.” “I’m trying.”

“I can see you’ve got this tiger by the tail. Want to tell me any more?”

“The voices. Babbling from the underworld. What are they? Before I only heard them underground, but lately I hear them almost anywhere. I feel like I’ve got to track them down or they’ll drive me crazy.”

“Do you think you can do it? Track them down?”
“I’m pretty sure I can, but I’m afraid. Wendy warned me not to.” “Really? What did she say?”
“Something about having a full plate for that day. Not to spoil it by

adding anything. And there’s an ancient rhyme that goes with the voices. A line goes: Very few have found the way, from the stream of ghosts to the light of day.”

“Hmm... very few. Very few is not none. And Wendy didn’t say no. It sounds like... at least she implied, that your day would come.”

“Yes, I think so. That’s why I’m a mess. I have to confront this... whatever it is, tonight. As soon as it’s dark.”

“Do you know the way?”

“Not really. I mean I know a little bit, but not enough. The mapstick puts a map of the underworld in my mind, but the place I’ll have to go isn’t on the map. I know the direction, but then it just dissolves, vanishes. It’s in the underworld somewhere, but it’s off the chart.”

“I have the feeling you know what you’re going to do. Here, take this coffee. It’s good.”

They sat sipping strong, bitter coffee, from small paper cups. The day was darkening and the clouds were more threatening. The wind had picked up, and was knocking them against the pier. Lluvia tied a couple of pontoons to protect the boat. Looking downstream there was nothing but darkness. The sky upstream had a bit of pale light left from the day.

Abby remembered a song of Wendy’s. “A few times when I’m sad or afraid, I remember Wendy singing this song.”

“Well...” Lluvia said impatiently. “Go on. I want to hear it too.” Abby sang softly:

Time has flown by
like the wind in the trees
Who knows where it comes from
Where it’s going you can’t see

“I like it,” Lluvia said. “Give me on more verse. Maybe it will tell us something.”

When you were a child
It seems like yesterday The years have gone by Like an afternoon at play

“Yes, time is flying by. We’ve got to outrun this storm coming up behind us. The tide is coming in with the storm. We’ll make good time.”

“Tide all the way up here in Half Moon?”

“Yeah, tide all the way to the wetland. It comes up the river, makes it flow slower. Take your rope off the cleat, here we go.”

Lluvia sailed the Living World, and Abby sat and thought and dreamed. The wind was stronger. The voices were a low murmur. She felt more confident, and was less afraid. Keeping watch for obstacles in the river kept her on the alert. Lluvia knew every inch of the river, so Abby didn’t worry about rocks or sandbars.

“So, where do you want to get off?” A bit of rain was in the air. “Same place. Near the cemetery.”
In a few minutes Lluvia said, “Coming ashore, sail down. Take it off

the mast and we’ll roll it up on the boom. The storm will be powerful, I won’t risk the run by night.”

“You can stay in my cottage,” Abby said, despite her misgivings about having Lluvia seen by stalkers.

“No. I’ll be at the West Isle in less than an hour. I have the motor, the tide, and the wind.”

Abby put on her backpack. The Living World slid up the mud just before the bridge. It was practically dark. Lluvia followed Abby onto the shore, gave her a long hug, and stepped back into the boat.

“Next time you’re in Rivergate I’ve got a special present for you. You can guess what it is. Now push me off.”

The boat drifted downstream. Suddenly the low sound of the motor began, and the Living World disappeared into the night.

Abby and Wendy - Episode 39

October 08, 2019 by John Kixmiller in Eco Fiction

THE STUDENTS AGAINST FOSSIL FUELS EVENT

Lluvia woke Phoebe and Abby at 7:15am. “Alex went out for breakfast treats,” she said. “He’s really trying to please you. We’re both hoping to see more of you.”

In ten minutes, the group crowded around the kitchen table, pouring coffee and eating bagels and egg salad, with sliced apples on the side. Isaiah seemed happy, looking forward to meeting Sharon on the River Queen at 10am.

Alex barely ate or talked at all, spending all his time sending and receiving messages. “I promised Sara and Amy we’ll meet them at Hamilton Hall twenty minutes. They want to have a meeting around the STAFF table on that hill overlooking the entrance. People are hyper.” The group hurried through their breakfast, gulped their coffee, and gave Isaiah hugs and encouragement. Alex was still answering texts. “It looks like the rain will hold off until evening,” he said. “Come on, let’s do this.”

A cool wind was blowing on a gray, overcast day. They hurried across the campus to a building far from the dormitories. A wide lawn and flower gardens surrounded this formal old building that used to be the university president’s mansion. Evansville College was about a hundred and fifty years old. Alex was taking his role as an activist and their host very seriously. He’s doing it all to impress Lluvia, thought Abby.Well, more power to them. I think I’m jealous.

They walked up a long path on rising ground, and suddenly found themselves on a small hill with a wide view of Hamilton Hall and the river beyond. Part way down the hill a convenient level spot was bustling with a crowd drinking coffee around a folding table. Students were talking, texting, and calling friends to get them out of bed. When they noticed Lluvia, Abby, Phoebe, and Alex everyone turned to stare. Phones disappeared. Sara called to them, and made introductions as they arrived.

“I know we all have questions for our guests,” she said. “We’d love to chat, but let’s put that off until after the event. We have details to cover... As I was saying, we’ll have five campus security to help us. Most of you know Little John, who will be the boss.” Sara turned to Abby, Phoebe, and Lluvia. “That’s John Little, head of security. He’s big and strong and in charge, so his presence should be enough to stop any disruptions. Sorry to say this over again, but our responsibility today is to actually have a discussion and make sure people can be heard and understood. So, we don’t want signs, chanting, and nasty comments. Please, point out disrupters to security, and they will do their job. We need this crowd to hear what the trustees are saying. If no one hears them, Professor Richardson’s reply will make no sense. Our goal is to become a part of the decision-making process. That will take winning the respect of the crowd, and the wide world through the press and social media. Any questions?”

Students and faculty had been arriving as Sara spoke. Reporters had come early and taken the space in front. A WBCS crew set up video cameras and sound equipment. Abby noticed older men in suits passing by a security guard into Hamilton Hall.

Alex spoke up. “After what you’ve said, I feel a bit guilty seeing our banner with my print hanging between those two trees. Shouldn’t we all avoid signs?”

“We’re sponsoring this event,” Sara replied. “We’ll answer questions, we have a first aid kit, we’ll be able to assign security. So, people need to know who we are and where we are.”

“Got it.”

Sara turned to Abby. “Having you here today is both an advantage and a disadvantage. I’m sure your presence will be noticed. People will want to talk to you, and some may want you to address the crowd... What would you like to do?”

Abby was sure of her answer. “I just want to be here and listen. I will not address the crowd or give interviews.”

“Good, very wise. I’m assigning Little John to stay with you as much as possible. Stand close to your friends, and be firm. Okay, it’s... almost 8:45. I see Professor Richardson and his colleagues over there. I’ll have to speak to them. Sometime soon I’ll have to open the event and introduce Jay Wellington, Dean of Students. Other questions?”

“What happened to Amy?” someone asked. “I don’t see her.”

“I’m not sure, but you know she always has a good reason for what she does... anything else? Well, talk to each other, feel free to bring up any questions later. There’ll be no rain, don’t worry. Give me your hand! Thanks everyone!” They all clustered together and slapped hands held high in the air like a sports team before the game.

Two students arrived with fresh coffee, apples, and bananas. Another arrived with bagels. The table became crowded. Time went by. STAFF members combed the area, reminding people to pick up any debris from their surroundings. After half an hour the crowd began to separate off into small groups. Some students were looking impatiently at the time, checking their email, texting, talking on their phones. A few were hurrying off to other appointments.

Sara sent her staff around promising a surprise in a few minutes. Ishmael, George, and Eddy carried instruments down to the stage, moved a few chairs aside, and set up a small amplifier. George tried out the microphone set up behind the podium. It was already turned on, clearly intended for the trustees to use when they were ready to explain their decisions.

The band made themselves at home and began to tune up. Students jostled for seats near the stage, and got back on their phones to call their friends. Sara appeared on the stage to say a few words.

“Friends, students, and faculty! We’ve been preparing for this event since last spring. Let’s not lose patience. We are determined to see this dialogue take place, right here, today. We’ll wait as long as necessary. Please remember, we’ve been hoping for years, decades, to see any progress on the climate crisis, species extinction, and the related issues that threaten the future of our world. So, stay right here and support our right to influence where the trustees invest our money. Do we want Evansville College to be dependent on an income that contributes to the destruction of our future?”

The crowd roared. Sara had caught their attention.

“And to make this waiting-time special for all of you, we have three members of the Thunder Rolling Band to play new songs, music you’ll be hearing for the first time.”

People clapped and cheered. Sara left the stage and Ishmael and George moved close together at the mike. Ishmael – smiling and waving to friends in the audience – said: “It’s great to be here! George and I just finished this song last week. This gathering today – and all our efforts – are small steps to deal with the global emergency. We wrote this song with that in mind. It’s called, We All Know Why.”

George played the chords, and Eddy found the rhythm on the conga drums. Ishmael joined in with a harsh, jabbing lead guitar solo. George began to sing:

We live near a river that goes roaring by
It’s in our streets and houses, sometimes people die Things have changed around here, things have changed, Do you know why?
You think our children gonna live here?
You oughta hear them cry

Our family’s on a farm that’s generations old
You know we’re proud to be here for a hundred years I’m told But now it’s strange, it never rains
Do you know why?
You think our children gonna live here?
Well you oughta hear them cry

Fishing for a living’s not an easy job I know We’ve been working at it for a century or more But now the fish are gone, they’re all gone
Do you know why?
You think our children gonna live here
Well you oughta hear them cry

This used to be a quiet town till the wild fires came Everyone is homeless now, we all feel the pain Everything’s changed, it’s strange
Do you know why?

You think our children gonna live here Don’t you hear them cry?

All over the world it’s been happening slow
But now it’s on our doorstep and everywhere we go
The slow death coming, it’s coming
And we all know why
Where you think our children gonna live now? Don’t you hear their cries?
Hear their cries
All over the world, hear their cries

During the song the huge double doors opened just a few feet, and out stepped a pale thin man in a dark suit. He looked over the crowd, listened for thirty seconds or so, and retreated back inside. Meanwhile the song ended. The audience was silent for a moment and then shouted for more. The band spoke a few words together, and George played a chord. Suddenly the doors opened wide. A handsome man in his thirties, wearing jeans and a brown sport jacket, quickly approached the microphone. Ishmael and George stepped aside. Eddy carried his drums off the stage.

The man gave a broad smile, thanked the band, and nodded to the audience. “Hello students, faculty, and guests! Most of you know me, I’m Jay Wellington, Dean of Students. Sorry for the delay.” He smiled again at the very large crowd, which had been growing over the past twenty minutes. “The trustees have asked me to make a request. It’s just a suggestion that might help us understand each other and work together. We realize that a discussion with so many people will be almost impossible, so we’re inviting one or two of you to speak to the board inside, and then report the substance of the conversation back to all of you. Perhaps one student and one faculty member would be appropriate? Sara, I know your group is sponsoring this... event? Rally? Perhaps you can choose a faculty member to accompany you to the discussion?”

Sara walked up to the microphone. Jay Wellington held his ground in front of the mike, forcing Sara to nudge him to the side. She stood so that she could address him and the audience at the same time.

She spoke slowly and clearly to absolute silence. “Jay, thanks for inviting me. We’ve gotten to know each other pretty well in the four meetings that were necessary to plan this... gathering. We call it a ‘gathering’ of students, faculty, and trustees. You’ll recall that we specifically planned to have a public... a public conversation that could be understood by anyone wishing to attend. Of course, we don’t expect our audience to all enter the discussion. But we did agree that they should be able to hear it and make their own judgement on the issues we are trying to resolve. We agreed that at least the executive committee of the trustees would actually appear and publicly announce their position. Then a faculty member and a student would have a chance to reply, followed by an opportunity for questions. Also, the trustees promised to hand out a written summary of their position. Hopefully we’ll see that before the meeting is over.”

Jay Wellington stepped away from the mike, motioning to Sara to have a few words on the side. But Sara held her ground, refusing a private conversation. The Dean returned to the mike, but had lost his smiling, affable manner. He couldn’t keep a note of anger out of his voice.

“I’m sorry you’re being so difficult. You know I’ve been doing my best to reconcile these very different... sometimes conflicting interests and goals. In situations like this a compromise may be the best we can do.”

As he paused there was an undertone of whispers and a shaking of heads from the audience. One voice shouted, “Let me get this straight. Who’s being difficult?”

Sara immediately chided her audience, reminding everyone of their commitment to civility and mutual respect. In the silence that followed Jay Wellington gave a weary sigh and shook his head. “I’ll do my best,” he said, but his voice implied a sense of hopelessness. He walked off.

Meanwhile Abby struggled with her own fears and conflicts. She longed to find a way to greet George and hopefully talk to him at least a little bit. Her intuition told her it would be nice for both of them. But she noticed people watching her, pointing, and making comments that she couldn’t quite hear. Fearing it was all in her mind, she was overjoyed when Little John, over six and a half feet tall and very formidable in his campus security uniform, moved over and stood next to her.

“Better stay with me,” he whispered.

She gave a sigh of relief. But still... she thought. It’s not just the crowd. There’s muttering like what I heard underground. Wendy warned me not to follow it... but why am I hearing it now, so far from the tunnels under Hidden Valley? I’ve got to get my mind off this!

But every time the Dean of Students spoke she could hear vague murmuring in the background, like a multitude of lost souls. I can’t take this! I’ve got to get out of here. The throng pressed in upon her as more and more people arrived, moving forward to hear what promised to be very riveting theater. Little John seemed to sense her nervousness, and patted her on the shoulder.

“Weird people arriving, but don’t worry,” he said. “I can handle it.” He held an oversize phone in his hand and occasionally spoke, giving instructions. Abby heard him say, “Yeah, send extras. Looks like something’s developing... Not sure, we’ll see.”

Her agony increased as the crowd waited for the next act. Finally, two security guards pulled open the enormous double doors, and four trustees in dark suits made their entrance. They barely glanced at the audience as they took seats behind the podium. Jay Wellington introduced them, but the murmuring inside Abby’s mind had become so loud that she couldn’t concentrate on their names. The Dean of Students stepped off the stage and began to talk to a group of professors that included Roberto Richardson.

The pale thin man rose and slowly seemed to float over to the mike. It was hard for Abby to guess his age. His thin hair seemed colorless. His features had no expression, manifested no emotion. His voice was flat, but his dark eyes darted around like little animals with a life of their own.

“I’m Bill Sandman, chair of our fiduciary committee. It’s our job to evaluate our investments and financial commitments, and do our best to fulfill the needs of Evansville College as presented to us by the administration and our executive chairman. Naturally, the financial security of the college is our highest priority.”

He paused, as if he expected some comment. “...our highest priority,” he went on. “My task is to make sure that we are faithful to the interests of this college. We cannot cede this responsibility to anyone. While we welcome the opportunity to listen to the ideas and recommendations of students and faculty, it remains our job, and our job alone, to make decisions to increase the endowment of Evansville College. But within those strict constraints there is some flexibility. I think you’ll find that Donald Irving, our investment advisor, can present opportunities for us to work together.”

No one clapped, or made any noise at all. People looked around as if confused or disoriented. Then a younger, more expensively dressed man rose from among the seated trustees, and walked confidently up to the microphone. He glanced at his watch and nodded to the crowd. “As Bill said, my area of expertise is the evaluation of our investments and the need, at times, to make changes. We have a substantial endowment, but our yearly expenses grow rapidly. We must be careful to generate an income that increases every year. Our scholarship fund, the salaries of our faculty, the maintenance of our physical plant, and the necessity of building dormitories as our college expands... I’m sure you can understand that fulfilling all these needs is not an easy task.

“I want you to know that we do consider environmental and moral issues when we invest. We already have restricted ourselves from new investments in fossil fuel corporations, as well as many enterprises with negative social impacts, such as the manufacture of assault rifles. Our annual report is available to the public for each year that passes. I must say we are proud of our strategies and our outcomes. After hearing from a faculty member and a student, I’ll be happy to take any questions, and hope we can share ideas for the benefit of all stakeholders in Evansville College.”

Bill Sandman walked over and joined his colleague at the mike. “Thank you, Donald, for all your help and years of service. Perhaps this would be a good moment to hear from a faculty member.” He nodded in to the group of professors and other staff. People in the crowd looked at each other in bewilderment, unable to believe that what they had heard was all that the trustees were offering. But Donald Irving took a seat, as Roberto Richardson said a few words to his colleagues. Then he spoke to George, who gave him a microphone attached to the amplifier used by the band.

“Please,” he said. “Bill or Donald, come back to the microphone. Let’s speak together and try to clarify this complicated subject. Hopefully we’ll make some progress.” The trustees hesitated and spoke in low undertones.

I can’t stand this! Abby was in a panic. What am I going to do? The murmuring and jabbering had grown louder, and become a wave of incomprehensible gibberish. She couldn’t tell what noise was coming from the audience and what was in her mind.

I’ve got to get out of here!

Donald Irving walked back to the mike, and Roberto joined him on the stage. “I understand that this is a confusing subject,” said Roberto in his most gentle manner. “I hope we can find a place to begin that we all agree on. I suggest that there are both objective facts and moral obligations facing all of us here at Evansville College. Let’s try to agree on these facts and obligations, and proceed from there.”

Roberto waited, as Donald Irving surveyed the crowd anxiously and looked at the trustees on either side of him and then at his audience. He gave a reply in a halting, uneven voice, full of long pauses:

“I think... we’ve already presented... the relevant facts and obligations. Our responsibilities and obligations to the needs of the college define this whole discussion. But perhaps... if there are questions... then...”

Roberto interrupted during another long pause. “Yes, thank you, we do have many questions. For example: Do you agree that the recent findings of the United Nations Intragovernmental Panel on Climate Change qualify as facts? If so, I hope we can agree that these findings create moral obligations for all of us.”

Donald Irving shook his head in frustration. “This line of questioning is really out of bounds. I have no expertise in science. It would be presumptuous, outside of my professional competence, to make a judgement on these findings. Any serious changes in our criteria to evaluate investments would have to come from the college president and the executive board.”

“Then perhaps we are speaking to the wrong people today. Are you saying that the climate crisis has no bearing on investments? Surely you will be examining the trends in energy technology in order to estimate future growth and returns on investment.”

“Yes, of course.” Donald was looking nervously at the trustees seated on both sides of the podium. Abby felt that he wanted one of his colleagues to rescue him from this loathsome predicament. “As I told you,” he continued, “we’ve already made a commitment to avoid further investments in fossil fuel corporations.”

“I understand. Was this commitment made for financial or ethical reasons?”

“Professor Richardson. I’m not here to be interrogated. I think the trustees have made their position quite clear. It’s time for you, representing students and faculty, to make your position clear.”

“Believe me,” the professor replied, “I understand that this is a stressful subject for all of us. I’m happy to change gears and speak directly to the audience. Thank you for your patience with my questions.”

Donald Irving nodded and sat in the row of chairs flanking the podium.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” began Roberto, “I want to thank all of you for your patience as well. I’ll present our position as briefly as I can.”

Staff and security were struggling to keep the audience quiet, as people tried to move around and talk to friends. Abby was aware that both students and adults were trying to approach her. Little John had engaged two other security guards to shield Abby. Lluvia and Phoebe politely but stubbornly warded off intruders. Feeling her heart beating and her breathing becoming a pant, she looked at the ground and met no one’s eyes.

Meanwhile, Roberto began his statement. “It’s very difficult for a complex community like Evansville College to make important decisions together when the participants are starting from different premises. The overwhelming majority of the students and faculty do accept the reports from the United Nations panel as facts and dire warnings. There is agreement among our most prominent scientific leaders that we have slightly more than ten years to make major changes in our global carbon footprint. If we fail at this task, irreversible changes will impact our globe, and change life on earth in devastating ways. I realize that there is a small minority who disagree, but if many doctors say that you have a dread disease and must make changes, and another doctor disagrees, you’ll probably make the changes to be on the safe side. And here the stakes are not just one person, not just one species, but all life on earth.”

The professor paused. The audience had become silent. No one moved.

“These scientific reports really exist. The research is real. The scientific community is real. We ignore them at our peril. These are facts. Now I’ll try to outline the moral issues. Here the discussion enters an area you can call spiritual, or religious. For example, there are social justice issues because – so far – climate change impacts poor countries and communities more than wealthy ones. The wealthy have a moral obligation to change this cruel and unfair crisis, and... they have the means to do so. Our various religions have strong words about our willingness – or lack thereof – to help those who suffer. Do the spiritual traditions of humanity matter? We ignore them at our peril.”

The audience clapped and cheered. Bill Sandman rose and spoke in Roberto’s ear. The professor stared off into the distance for a moment, and then said: “Bill tells me we’re running out of time. I don’t want to take any time that should be given to a speaker from the student body, so I’ll sum up our position. It is universally acknowledged that humans have created technology and power that can destroy all life. Do we have a moral obligation to life on earth? Do we have a moral obligation to the generations of humans, and of all species, waiting to be born? I believe we do. This moral and spiritual commitment must become the starting point for any discussion of investments, politics, and the decision-making process of any reputable organization, corporation, government, or institution. This is a universal challenge, affecting the way we live. It must be the first priority. After the collapse of civilization, what will our loyalty to Evansville College be worth?”

The audience cheered and clapped. In great agitation, Donald Irving rose and elbowed Roberto away from the mike. “I’m sorry, but I must bring some common sense to this dialogue. We also have an ethical obligation – right now, at this moment – to heat people’s homes, run a transportation system, put food on the table, run a university! All our myriad obligations do not disappear like magic because of a United Nations report. For example, our environmental groups on campus want to ban fracking. But we heat our dormitories and classrooms with fracked gas! And we have no solutions in place to banish fossil fuels, and will not have solutions for three decades at a minimum.”

“May I reply?” asked Roberto in a mild, very calm voice. “Yes, please do, if you can.”

“For the sake of discussion, let’s assume it will take three decades to become carbon free. No one is proposing banishing all fossil fuels tomorrow. We are proposing a path toward running our whole economy on renewable fuels. There are many options already in use that can be quickly expanded under the right conditions. Wind, solar, geothermal, and biogas come to mind immediately. We also need major changes in agricultural methods, and we need to expand forests and wild areas.”

Roberto looked over the audience. He seemed to stand up taller, and raised his voice: “We must begin to do these things now. We have wasted decades, and now we face an emergency. Let’s look at biogas for a minute. We know we can make fuel from organic waste, fuel that can substitute for fracked gas in important ways. Landfills of organic waste have a large carbon footprint because they emit methane into the atmosphere. We can take all that organic waste and make biogas and compost. It’s being done all over the world. Right now we pay to landfill the organic waste, and we allow the valuable methane to escape. We have the knowledge and expertise to do better. Why not invest in that?”

Roberto turned to the trustees to his right and left. “I’ve read the annual report of Evansville College. I estimate that about twenty percent of the endowment is invested in corporations that make money directly from mining and selling fossil fuels, and there are many more with an indirect relationship to fossil fuels. Why not sell those stocks and reinvest in renewable energy?”

Donald Irving eagerly took the mike. “Do you know,” he asked, “what would happen if all universities and pension funds followed your advice? I’m sure most of you have no idea. Such a policy would destroy our infrastructure. I would be fired for doing anything so stupid.”

“Okay... then as I understand it...” Roberto spoke softly, without hostility, “all the hundreds of endowments and pension funds that have already disinvested from the fossil fuel industry, or are doing so gradually, should already have bankrupted our country, even the whole globe. But that is not happening. Why do you think that is?”

Bill Sandman hurried to the mike again. In his flat voice, conveying no feeling at all, he said: “Thank you very much, Professor Richardson. We’re grateful for your ideas and suggestions. And now its time to hear from a student.”

The crowd was shocked. The trustee’s dismissal of Professor Richardson, a popular and respected faculty member, was unexpected and rude. But Sandman’s tone of voice was so void of any emotional cues that it was almost hypnotic. No one knew how to react. Abby struggled again with the endless sound of muttering, as if a million Bill Sandman’s were speaking.

Conversations broke out among small groups. The crowd expected Sara to take the stage, but the seconds flew by. Abby began to hear her own name, a sort of chant that grew in volume, and continued to grow until she fell into a major panic. She became aware of an argument between Little John and a woman. Turning her head, she saw Zoe pleading with Little John.

“Let me hear her,” Abby told him. “She’s with us!” Little John let her approach.

“It’s that Jerry Norris and a bunch of hired hands,” whispered Zoe. “They’re trying to create a mess, or make you look bad, or something. End this delay. Do something fast!”

Suddenly Sara joined them and said, “Abby, I’ve changed my mind. Please, go on stage and say something. You must, or we’ll have chaos. Just thank the crowd, tell them about the STAFF meeting tomorrow night in the student center. Thank Roberto. Even our friends are caught up in this outburst. You can’t walk out now, and I can’t fill your shoes. They want to see you.”

Abby put her face in her hands.

Sara leaned over and spoke in Abby’s ear. “This crowd is angry at the way the meeting is ending. They’re hoping for some inspiration. Come on, we’ll both go on stage.”

Abby had an idea. “Little John, Lluvia, wait for me right at those giant doors. After I speak we’ll escape through Hamilton Hall.”

Little John nodded. Abby rose and stepped up onto the stage. Sara took the mike and said, “We’re honored to welcome Abby Chapman to Evansville College, and to our student group. We hope to see her more often, and hope to visit her groups in Middletown and Rivergate.”

Sara looked at Abby.

A long round of applause rang out. Students raised their cell phones at arms length and snapped pictures. Oh, help me... thought Abby. I have no idea what I’m doing! She looked out on the vast crowd and saw friendly faces. The atmosphere became warm and welcoming. She found a few words that felt right.

“I’ve been wanting to come here for weeks.” Her voice rang out over the crowd, and all were silent. “So many here in Evansville have welcomed us, and we feel at home among you. And we’re eager to join you in events to come. I’m thinking particularly of the climate change conferences coming up in River City. I love it that we’re all living along the river, and I’ve dreamed of creating an armada of boats to travel to River City for the United Nations conferences. So, I hope we’ll be seeing a lot of each other. To the reporters and media people out there, I apologize for not granting interviews, but I’ve been overwhelmed and just need to be quiet for a while and stay with friends. We have others here today to represent Middletown and Rivergate.”

The crowd clapped and cheered. This was just the sort of thing they needed.

“So...” Abby continued, “our gratitude to all of you, and especially to Professor Richardson, STAFF members, the Thunder Rolling Band, and the trustees, for having the courage to work together and begin this conversation. I have just one request: Please continue this dialogue. I say this to all of you: Don’t give up. Remember: We’re all relatives.”

She bowed her head to thunderous applause, and then turned and joined Little John and Lluvia at the doorway. He escorted them inside and past the security guards. They hurried down a long hall paneled with dark wood.

Abby felt very secure with Lluvia and Little John. He clearly knew where he was going and what he wanted to do. Luvia was calm and seemed to be enjoying herself. They passed by a wide door that opened onto a large conference room. Paintings lined the walls. A well-dressed group including the trustees were talking and sampling an assortment of breakfast food on an enormous oval table. Abby glanced in and met the eyes of two women. Both were trustees of the United Church of Middletown. They froze in shock for a moment.

“Come on, come on!” hissed Lluvia. Abby tore herself away. They ran down the hall to catch up with Little John.

“Don’t stop like that,” he whispered.

They quickly descended two flights of stairs to a bare basement. He waited for them and asked, “Where do you want to go?”

Lluvia explained the way to Alex’s house. Little John unlocked a little used door and stepped outside. “The coast is clear,” he said.

He led them on small paths screened by trees, and soon they were off campus.

“Where are we?” Luvia asked.

“Let’s hurry,” he replied. “They might know about your house. Do you have the key?”

“No, but somebody might be there. If we’re locked out we’ll go straight to the dock. We’ll leave by boat.”

“Got it. I’ll keep anyone from following you right away by boat.”

Abby recognized the row of small brick houses. In a moment they rang Alex’s bell. He opened the door, they entered, and he closed it immediately. “They’re staked out in the archway across the street. What are you going to do?”

“Alex, this is Little John. He’ll escort us to Lluvia’s boat.”

“Ah! Excellent. Here’s your backpacks.” He looked at Abby. “I put something extra in yours.” He looked back at Lluvia and gave her a long hug. “Next Saturday,” he said. “Please come.”

She nodded happily.

“Come on,” Alex told them. They went out the back door, into a nearby yard, and came out on a back alley. Alex waved as the three fugitives continued almost at a run. In what seemed like no time at all they came out on the docks. Lluvia’s boat was now low in the water at low tide. She climbed down and started the electric motor. Soon they were quietly making their way upstream. Little John waved and gave them a thumbs up sign. They blew him kisses.

SUBCRIBE TO OUR YOUTUBE CHANNEL

The Protectors of the Wood Eco-Fiction Adventure Series is an illustrated story of a group of teenagers who save the world from climate change. The themes include the power of relationships, realizing leadership, good versus evil, and the coming of age.

These teenagers find out who they are while dealing with the climate emergency and the conflicts that surround them in Middletown. The two main characters, Phoebe and Abby, work together to find solutions within their communities.

The story begins with Phoebe coming home from college and discovering shocking changes threatening Middletown. A gigantic corporation threatens to destroy the land, legends, and heritage of her family and friends.

Phoebe and Abby unravel the secrets in their small town, and realize that they are all connected to a global conflict. They feel that all their hopes are in danger of being lost. They discover that they have the unique gift of seeing visions through DreamStone, a gem found deep under the vast forest preserve.

While searching for the secrets of DreamStone and their identities, Phoebe and Abby risk their lives to save the beautiful world around them called home.

Abby and Wendy - Episode 38

October 02, 2019 by John Kixmiller in Eco Fiction

THE LONG ROAD

“Hey Abby!” Phoebe turned to catch a glimpse of Abby’s face in the faint light. “You never mentioned all this fascinating stuff. I had no idea.”

“Yeah, but remember, I haven’t seen him in ten years.”

“Isaiah and Ishmael know him too,” added Lluvia. “In fact, the whole band might be staying with Alex.”

They were walking along a wandering pathway bordered by thin metal posts holding chains, apparently set up to keep people off the lawn. Sculpted columns held lights throwing shadows across their path. Large stone buildings with arches and gothic decorations appeared across the lawn. Tall oak and maple trees obscured the view ahead. A thin curved moon like a boat sailed slowly across the sky. The campus was quiet, with murmuring voices and music in the background.

A wide arch appeared ahead of them, and then a short tunnel led off the campus to a narrow street lined with a row of very old brick houses. Lluvia stopped at one of these small one family dwellings, about five yards wide and two stories high. After a tiny front yard, three windows glowed in the night, one near the door and two above.

“Well, there are people here at least,” Abby said.

“Of course,” Lluvia replied. “It’s a big deal that we’re visiting. They’re waiting for us.”

“How do you know?” Abby sensed that Lluvia knew a lot more about this situation than she had let on.

Lluvia laughed. “We’re better organized than you think. We obey the phone rules, but Sharon brings messages back and forth. And I’m here often these days.”

She knocked on the door, and knocked again. An acoustic guitar and voice suddenly stopped.

“Yes?” came a voice. “Who is it?”

“It’s me, Isaiah! Lluvia!”

The door opened. Isaiah and Lluvia embraced. Abby glanced around at the mess in the small multi-purpose room. There were pizza boxes on the floor, two open duffel bags with loose clothing, a sleeping bag, books, two guitars and a drum set, and prints all over the walls. Isaiah pushed some books on the couch onto the floor, and moved a couple of folding chairs.

“Please, have a seat,” he said. “Lluvia, Abby, Phoebe, sorry for the chaos here, and sorry to be the only one to welcome you. The others should be back… well, it’s hard to say. There’s a lot going on.” Isaiah raised a hand as if to dismiss the whole subject. “What about Alex?” asked Lluvia.

“I thought he was at the gallery.”

“Mmm… we were just there. In fact, we were supposed to meet him there.”

“Welcome to Evansville College,” said Isaiah sarcastically.

There’s something sad in his eyes, thought Abby. “You don’t look too happy. Anything we can do?” Isaiah shrugged.

Abby looked at Lluvia, who was speechless and seemed shocked. Clearly she had not expected this reception. Abby decided to pursue Isaiah, get him to open up. “I heard that song through the door,” she said. “I still hear it in my head. What song is that?”

“Oh, just something I’ve been working on. I think I finished it.”

“Let’s hear it.”

“I’m a bad guitar player. I won’t do it justice.”

“Through the door it sounded… well, powerful. I’m really interested.” Abby handed him a guitar. He’s depressed, she thought. Lonely, but more than that.

Isaiah played a few chords and hummed a melody, not a fast rhythm but not slow either. A very solemn tune. He began to sing:

Take me up on the long road

Where the heavens open wide

I want to tell you just how much we care

Won’t you listen to our cry

Do you ever show your hand

Can anyone ever know

It’s all that we can do to crawl

And it’s a long long way to go

Climbing up the distant ladder

Sometimes the heart’s the only guide

I want you to know about the love we share

I want you to see how hard we try

Take one step at a time

When you’re feeling so empty

You’ve got to lose just to live

I don’t see nothing here for free

Can I do something for you

Can you do something for me

Cause it’s way after midnight

And I can barely see

Take me for a ride on your railroad

Take me for a ride up to the sun

I want to know the place where we go

Where our lives are lost and won

The song was over. There was a moment of silence. “Oooo…” murmured Lluvia.

“Definitely… powerful,” repeated Abby.

There was silence again. Finally, Lluvia said, “It’s about you, right? We’re your friends. Come on, let us in, what’s up?”

“I don’t want to talk about it. But… I know I have to… Okay, the big news is I’m catching Sharon’s boat early tomorrow. I’ll miss the big concert in the courtyard tomorrow night. I told Cali, but haven’t spoken to anyone else. Maybe Cali will find them.”

“Something important must have happened.” Lluvia put her hand on his knee. “Come on, let us in.”

“My mother’s sick. She’ll have some kind of procedure done on her eye tomorrow morning, and be in the hospital for a few days. I’m frightened for her.” They waited.

“She got Sharon to find me and say I should act as pastor on

Sunday in the church, unless Sonny wants to do it. In which case I should support Sonny and run Sunday school. Junior’s in River City for a meeting. He’s away more often than he’s home. And I am too!”

Isaiah opened his arms as if pleading with them. “We’re deserting our responsibilities. I don’t like it here. Everyone is a kid, a mob of twenty-year olds looking for girlfriends or boyfriends, socializing like mad. There’s no one here like me. I’m not interested in assistant professors and college events. I’m thirty-four years old, and not making any money – though we are supposed to get paid for our radio concert – but I don’t care, they’ll give me my share later. And then they’ll go to River City for a show, but I won’t go. And… any moment they’ll walk in and I’ll spoil their evening, but I don’t care. I can’t do this any longer.” Lluvia hugged him.

“They won’t even have time to practice the band without me!” Isaiah was almost yelling with frustration. “It’s such a mean thing I’m doing. You got to lose just to live.” He had tears in his eyes.

“I think you’re doing the right thing,” Abby said.

“Yeah,” Lluvia said softly. “It’s important to be pastor if they need you. These kids in Sunday school are important. How about Wednesday night at the Open Gate? Hundreds of people come every week. With Junior and Cali gone, who can run it? You have jobs to do.”

“I do. I do. And I like my jobs. I like the band too, but I end up sitting around here, feeling out of place. My band and their friends are over ten years younger than me. These students are even younger. You should hear the stuff they talk about. Debating the end of the world. Dystopia, everything’s about dystopia. I hate these discussions. Let’s do something about it! They talk about Alex’s fire breathing dragon as if the end is near. And that dragon pouring out the flood…” – he motioned to a nearby print of The Ark on the wall – “you see it everywhere.”

Lluvia backed up and gave Isaiah a stare. “Now don’t go overboard on me, that’s not fair. The Students Against Fossil Fuels are trying. You see STAFF shirts all over. We’ve just come from a meeting where we were all trying to do something. Alex isn’t predicting the end of the world. His Ark is about getting through the flood with all life. The dragon is just nature striking back against our mistakes. You must have heard Alex’s idea. He wants to give Students Against Fossil Fuels a new name: SAD, for Students Against Distopia.”

“Mmm… I like that,” Isaiah replied. “But I’m not a student, and I’m not going to be one. How old are you, Lluvia?”

“Why ask that? I’m twenty-two.”

“See? That’s my point. You like Alex. You’re in a different stage of life. And you’re right, I know I’m being unfair, venting all this to you. I’ll get over it. At least now I know what I should be doing. The band will survive. They’ll figure it out.”

Abby broke into the conversation. “You’re right. Don’t feel guilty. They’ll understand. And who can argue with your mother, your church, your community? Lluvia and I grew up there, went to Sunday school there. We would never be where we are without adults who cared.”

Phoebe suddenly had a few words to say. “The band will survive. I know them. We’re on your side. Do what you need to do. Now, I’m going to clean up this place. How did it become such a mess? We’re staying here too.”

Abby and Lluvia and Isaiah joined in.

Cali and Alex arrived, and received a warm welcome from all. Abby and Alex embraced and stared at each other. Everyone felt a burst of energy and sat around the coffee table with several conversations going on at once. Cali did her best to relieve Isaiah’s anxieties. She had spoken to George, Eddy, and Ishmael. They were already making plans on the phone. Rain was predicted for the following evening, and Sara had received permission to move the concert indoors. In fact, explained Cali, they might be able to play in the beautiful old auditorium in Alexander Hall. That circular stone building was the most prestigious place for music on campus.

Plus, Sara wanted Ishmael, Eddy, and George to show up early the following morning at the trustee event. “Sara’s afraid the trustees will delay presenting their position on disinvestment,” Cali explained. “People could get restless and annoyed. Sara wants the band to hold the crowd if that happens.”

Nobody was mad at Isaiah; Cali was sure of that. The band would set up in Alexander Hall early in the afternoon, and could practice for hours. The concert would begin at 7pm.

Alex offered beer, wine, coffee, or tea. Phoebe, Lluvia, and Abby were exhausted, and wanted peppermint tea and a place to sleep. Isaiah was packing his things in a duffel bag.

“So where is everybody?” asked Isaiah.

“Well, George and Ishmael are in Sara’s dorm,” Cali answered. “Eddie is somewhere with Stephanie, and I’m invited to a party and only stopped by to bring you the news.”

I’ve got to say something, thought Abby. I need to know something! “Cali, wait a second. I haven’t seen George since that disaster in the churchyard. He hasn’t returned to Middletown since then.

I need to know how he’s doing… It was so painful for him.”

“Yeah, it was,” Cali replied softly, almost in a whisper. “But he likes it here. It’s kind of… well, liberating for him to be away from all that tension. He’s writing songs, gets along with Sara and her friends. He can’t stay in Sara’s dormitory forever, but so far it’s okay.”

Abby breathed a sigh of relief. “Thanks, that really helps.”

“It’s all okay,” Cali said. She headed out the door and said she’d be back in a couple of hours. There was a long silence.

Then Lluvia looked at Alex. “Where were you? We saw your gallery, but you didn’t show up.”

“I’m sorry… I was at the big staff meeting. We’re organizing tomorrow’s…” He hesitated. “Event…gathering… demonstration? Who knows what it is, or how it will come off. Sara and Amy are desperate to give it some respectability and prestige. They asked everyone to act as security, speak to the campus police about any problems, intervene on people trying to disrupt. The meeting went on and on, but at least we have a plan. Staff will show at 8am and drink coffee, and greet people as they arrive. I’m not used to this sort of thing, but I’m doing my best. No banners, no signs allowed. We’re all supposed to wear STAFF t-shirts. Here, I’ve got a few to give you.” He reached into his backpack and handed out the shirts.

“How exciting,” exclaimed Lluvia. “That’s wonderful… I’m so… proud of you. I can’t wait.”

Alex smiled at her. “See, I’m not such an irresponsible, no-good, undisciplined…”

“Now that’s unfair!” Lluvia retorted. “I never said those things.”

Alex was surprised and immediately apologized. “Of course you didn’t. I was just thinking of what my sister used to call me, maybe even still calls me. I shouldn’t pin it on you. Please forgive me.”

They hugged. Phoebe and Abby looked at each other and smiled, nodding at each other. They had guessed correctly.

They drank their tea in silence. Alex looked around anxiously. “I know I haven’t been much of a host, but we do have a bed and two cots in the front room upstairs. Cali sleeps right here on the couch. George stays with Sara, Eddy stays with Stephanie, and Ishmael stays with friends I haven’t met yet. Isaiah and I have the back room. I hope that’s okay.”

He looked from one to another. No one replied. “Please, we can change the arrangement if there’s a problem…”

“No, of course not,” Abby said. “It’s all fine, please don’t worry, just wake us early. We’ll wear our new shirts and follow everything you do in the morning.”

“I’m thrilled to be here!” exclaimed Phoebe. “Thank you, Alex!”

Abby reached out and touched his hand. “Yes, and please don’t apologize. We’ll have a chance to catch up on the years gone by… maybe tomorrow afternoon?”

“Oh, I’d love that, I’m so curious about all you’ve done. And by the way, I’ve got a print to give you tomorrow before you leave. I’d love to hear your reaction to it. I was thinking of you when I drew it. I don’t know what it means. It came out of a dream.”

“I’d love to see it. And I loved your show. I even bought a print!”

“You shouldn’t have done that! I’ll give you any print you like.”

“That’s okay, I’m glad I bought it, and I’m eager to see whatever you want to give me.”

“I’ve got to tell you,” Alex went on, “you’re famous here in Evansville. Everyone follows the news. You should know that people will try to interview you tomorrow.”

“No, please! If anyone asks, just say I’m only here to listen. Tell the other staff.” Abby was very firm, and obviously worried.

“Ah, I’m glad you mentioned it,” Alex replied. “I’ll bring it up early tomorrow. That’s the kind of thing Sara and Amy need to know. They’ll probably assign campus security to watch over you.”

Please! thought Abby. I need to be invisible.

Phoebe and Lluvia were looking at her. “We’ll stick with you,” Phoebe said.

Abby and Wendy - Episode 37

September 17, 2019 by John Kixmiller in Eco Fiction

Episode 37

Professor Richardson looked at Abby in surprise, and nodded. “So you’ve noticed that too! Yes, climate change denial is based on loyalty to a fossil fuel culture, and is related to some very explosive issues: ethnicity, race, heritage, some people’s sense of personal identity.”
“Yeah,” returned Freddy Baez with a weary sigh. “You mean white nationalism, the white power movement, a deeply rooted demon.”
Amy Zhi spoke for the first time. “It’s true. This is a dangerous moment. A lot of the work we’ve done over many years... it’s all up in the air now. Governor Palmer has approved my father’s ideas because they save money. The Parks Department more than pays for itself. But now the governor’s big donors don’t like what they see. We’ve been hiding in plain sight, but that era is over. We have to defend ourselves. My father could be fired. The biogas operation could be closed down, especially the part in Half Moon. The entire population of Rivergate could be driven out of their homes. We know what that means. The governor got a lot of pushback after the Sonny Walker interview, but I’m sure they haven’t given up. So I agree with Abby. We have to defend ourselves.”
Amy was dressed like Sara in a STAFF tee shirt and jeans. It’s like they’re they’re in uniform, thought Abby, soldiers ready for their orders.
Ricardo leaned forward, closer into the circle. “I’d like to get back to Freddy’s idea: We need a story. Perhaps I can help. Many of you know I have a chance to present our ideas at the coming United Nations conference. The preliminary gathering will be in River City in just a month. The conference itself, with representatives from over a hundred nations, will meet in River City in two months. I must present my paper and recommendations on Tuesday the 25th of September. I intend to be ready with an analysis of what we’ve accomplished, including the social, political, and economic assets and obstacles, as well as the technical problems. I need to visit locations where biogas is produced and have access to people and resources. Who works on your project? Who adapts cars and furnaces and stoves for biogas? How much does it cost? Is the supply reliable? What becomes of the compost? I’m in a rush just like the rest of you. And make no mistake; this will be a story, and we’ll all have to decide how to present it.”
Freddy’s brown eyes were full of fire. Abby had never seen his drive, his intensity before. “So, Abby,” he said. “Can we visit these biogas sites? Can we interview people, and run a series on the economics and legalities of the operation? Can we estimate the practical implications for our audience? It can’t be too abstract. We need on-the-ground details, personal stories.”
“To all of that, the answer is yes. Lluvia, Phoebe, and I are here to work with you, and help present Half Moon Park, Rivergate, the West Isle, and Fisher’s island as models of the way things can be done. You can talk to farmers in Middletown already producing their own biogas. And yes, you can talk to people who deliver fuel, adapt engines, and have to get paid for what they do.”
“Amy,” Freddy asked, “how does that sound for you?”
“It has to be done. But... you understand, my father will not participate. No interviews, no emails, no statements for the press. Don’t expect his office to reply. His position is that this effort is economic, not environmental. His office will say only one thing: Biogas saves the taxpayer money. The Parks and Sanitation Departments pay for themselves. That’s our strong suit, and it’s all you can expect from him.”
“I do believe,” returned Freddy, “that Amy has just given us a key element of the story. The people who make this possible are not rich for the most part. This project has blossomed without major corporations and vast incomes for executives. We’re talking about a local, grassroots industry that can be replicated. I think that storyline suits both Ricardo and myself.”
Ricardo refilled Freddy’s wine glass. They clinked glasses, and raised them to the whole group, who returned the toast with coffee cups.
In the silence that followed Lluvia spoke for the first time. Her voice was very quiet, and the group listened closely. “I volunteer to be a guide for any group wanting to see any part of our biogas, composting, and agricultural methods. I won’t volunteer for interviews, but I’ll find people who will volunteer. We can go to Rivergate, the West Isle, and Fisher’s Island. We can visit homes and collection sites, and look at boats, stoves, cars, trucks, and furnaces that run on biogas. But someone else will have to give permission and guide reporters visiting Half Moon Park.”
“Bennie Nimzowitsch is our Park Manager,” Amy told them. “Speak to him first, and he’ll ask for permission up the bureaucratic ladder. Ultimately the governor will have to give permission or not. There are pluses and minuses for him either way. We’ll just have to wait and see. But meanwhile, the Rivergate part of the story will be a wonderful place to start.”
Ricardo looked around the circle. “We’ve come a long way in less than an hour. I haven’t mentioned the Evansville part of the picture because we’ve got that covered. Mayor Ellis has been increasing purchases of biogas from the park system for seven years or so. Henry is familiar with the technology and the politics.” Ricardo nodded to the young assistant professor.
Henry thanked Ricardo and gave out his phone number and email address. “I’m eager to know all of you,” he said. “I’m doing my graduate thesis on this subject, and hope to visit your sites and include you in my research. This is a wonderful opportunity, and I’m very grateful.” He looked around the room with hesitant, vulnerable blue eyes, obviously pleading for acceptance.
Ricardo gave people a moment to reassure Henry, and then said, “I’m sure you’re all hungry. Let’s trade email addresses and move this train forward.”
Abby frowned. “There’s a problem. We’ve been warned not to carry cell phones. We’ve been warned of efforts to hack our phones and computers. So to reach Lluvia or anyone in Rivergate, call Sonny Walker’s secretary, named Chris. Sara, maybe you can help move this along.”
“I’m on it. This is my department. Don’t worry about a thing. But what about Sulay and Nico? Where do they fit in?”
Abby smiled. “Phoebe and I are supervising them. We need them in Middletown. But tomorrow morning they’ll be here with the soccer teams for the games in your stadium.” “Got it. I’ll find them. Keep the news coming.”
“I’ll know where they are,” Phoebe told her. “I’ll help you.”
No one spoke. People looked at each other, wondering if Phoebe’s words had concluded the meeting. But Ricardo leaned forward again. “I apologize, but I need to ask two more questions, and please, answer them any way you wish, or don’t answer them at all. First, I’m under pressure from my colleagues in other fields – history, anthropology, archeology. They want to know who could help them find sites to study and people to interview in Rivergate and the forest preserve. I tried to be polite and said I’d look into it, but I certainly have promised nothing. But now I ask: Can any of our professors interested in the history of the Half Moon Valley, or the archeology of the Valley, speak to any of you about any information you may have?”
“No,” replied Abby. “We are in no position to guide any such inquiry, and will prevent it if possible.”
“I thought so. Rest assured, I will offer nothing. And I’ll warn you if anything of the kind is moving forward.”
Abby gave him a smile. “Thank you. And be aware that the forest preserve is run by the state, and I believe will fall under the authority of Amy’s father. We’ve been protected so far.”
Amy nodded.
“Finally,” Ricardo went on, “I’m curious if there is an important reason why all of you...” he was looking at Abby, Phoebe, and Lluvia, “have suddenly made this generous offer to partner with us.”
The three glanced at each other. “I can think of one reason,” Phoebe said. “We’ve been through a lot of stress and trouble over the last two months. It’s been a shocking experience. We’ve had to learn to cope very fast.”
Ah! thought Abby. Go for it! Tell them.
“We’ve tried to do things that are really quite ordinary, like build a community around the stores in our town, offer activities that people might like, especially for teenagers. These are things I grew up doing, things I had considered normal, like having festivals, music concerts, a soccer league, listening to our local minister and supporting the mission of the church. But we’ve had to realize that we’re facing very powerful, wealthy, and determined enemies. Problems have opened up that have been hidden for decades. We’ve had to fight for basic community goals. Freddy has seen some of this. What Sara called the mysteries in Middletown have arisen around what I used to consider ordinary small- town events.
“Now... you could say that Reverend Tuck’s sermon, the one where he called climate change a sin... well, I do see that many people will regard that as threatening. But doing nothing about it is even more threatening. We’ve realized we have to fight a larger political battle. What I’m interested in is that battle. Middletown is a microcosm of the wide world. So I ask: What happens tomorrow morning? How can we contribute? How do we follow up? Can we get involved in events surrounding the United Nations conference? We’re opening up because circumstances are forcing us to get together and stand for something, or our world will become an unrecognizable nightmare.”
Sara clapped. “Please, all three of you! Tomorrow after the gathering at Hamilton Hall, our group will meet, discuss the day’s events, and plan for the future. You’re all invited. And please, help us at tomorrow’s event. It’s an effort to create dialogue and understanding between the trustees, students, and faculty. We want the trustees to share power with the college community, and not act like the students are children and the faculty are absent-minded professors, lost in abstract research. We’re in this together. And I’ll have to speak on your behalf, and present ideas from this meeting. But I don’t have the authority and respect to respond to the trustees’ presentation. Ricardo, that job can only be done by you. I wish we could help, but you know you’ll be on the spot.”
“Don’t apologize, Sara. I’ve been eager for this job for years. If only I can be on the spot a dozen more times in the next few months! What good is Evansville College, what good is being a professor, what good is having a new department called Energy in the Age of Climate Change? It’s time to plan, organize, speak up. It’s time to act.” He slammed the flat of his hand onto the table.
They all stared in surprise.
“Okay Ricardo!” cried Sara with a big smile. “We’re with you.”
Freddy rubbed his hands together. He had a gleam in his eye. “This is why I entered the news business! Are we all on board?”
“Yes! Of course! Absoluuuutly!” Their voices responded at once.
“Any more questions?”
No one spoke.
“Thank you all!” Ricardo stood up. “Let’s eat!”
Sara and Amy departed immediately after the meeting, saying they would grab a sandwich in the student center and eat with the organizers of tomorrow’s gathering. “Sorry to insist on that word, ‘gathering’,” Sara told them. “But a street demonstration and protest would be a disaster for us. We’re doing all we can to debate policy, backed up by a well-behaved crowd. We need the right kind of media attention.”
Amy pulled on her sleeve. “Come on! They’ll be finished before we get there!” And they were gone.
Lluvia, Phoebe, Abby, and Henry Tims took a table together in the luxury of the faculty dining room. Henry presented himself as their guide for the evening, and offered to escort them to the gallery. An hour later, Lluvia, Phoebe, Abby, and Henry Tims were walking past the college dormitories looking for a building known as the A.D. – short for Art Department. There they expected to meet Alex Johnson, who would give them a room for the night. “We’re just in time,” Henry told them. “The gallery closes at 9.” He led them through the glass door of a modern, very wide, two story building with enormous windows.
A few students were talking in the lobby. “It’s got nothing to do with modern art,” argued one voice. “It’s some kind of weird throw-back. I don’t know why they’re giving it any attention.”
“It’s gets attention because it’s relevant,” retorted another voice. “He raises conflicts. Gender, climate change, poverty, sex, religion...”
“You see all that? I don’t... and he can’t even draw. People just buy it because it’s cheap.” Henry led them into a clean white room with a polished hardwood floor, immaculate white walls, and a ten-foot ceiling with track lighting. Abby counted fourteen prints on thick white paper held on the walls at eye level with pushpins. They were all deep red or brown. A few were fairly small, but the majority were pictures about two by three feet printed on enormous sheets of paper. At the far end hung a tapestry about two and a half by three feet, showing an abstract female figure on a wavy background that reminded Abby of small prehistoric rock sculptures she had seen in some book in high school. Other abstract symbols appeared across the upper six inches.
On another wall she was not surprised to see the red print of Noah’s Ark that had been displayed on the Students Against Fossil Fuels banner. A dragon or snake ran across the top of the design, turned downward at the corner, and became a head vomiting the flood covering the bottom of the picture. The identical dragon appeared in the next, even larger print. But there it was spitting fire onto what looked like the skyline of River City. Fires were burning in many places. Figures were fleeing the nightmare.
“Well, what d’you think?” asked Lluvia.
“They look like visions,” murmured Abby, still staring. “Are these really by the Alex we used to know?”
“Aren’t we staying at his house tonight?” whispered Phoebe. “Is he here?”
Lluvia looked around. “Don’t see him. But he definitely invited us.”
“Look at this little design where the signature usually goes,” whispered Abby with a thrill in her voice.
“I’ve seen that before... Have you?”
“I’ve seen it in prints and weaving by Alex... but, I can’t think of anywhere else.” “Well... I have. I want one of these prints.”
Taking his role as their host seriously, Henry had not deserted them. He stood nearby talking to a woman behind a long table covered with prints. They joined him there and studied the artwork and the prices. The prints were very cheap as art prices go, at ten to forty dollars each.
“Just five more minutes,” announced the woman in charge. “If you want a print, now is the time.” She was making sales to a small line of visitors.
Abby actually had money in her pocket and wanted a very small brown print with four shapes side by side. The first might have been a tall and jagged piece of rock; the second was a naked man with this hands and head in a position of prayer; the third was a tree with a bird on an upper branch overlooking the man; and the fourth was made of three thick wavy lines that reminded her of water. There was something so pleading and vulnerable about the man that Abby’s heart went out to him. The print seemed to depict a beautiful but scary world.
“Would you like to buy it?” asked the woman.
“Not now,” Abby said. “I don’t want to fold it.”
“I’ll put it in a little tube for you. Just ten dollars.”
“Abby,” called Phoebe, standing near the door. “Alex has gone home. Henry will take us.” She quickly pulled out ten dollars and tucked the tube into her backpack.
“So you know the artist?” asked the woman.
Abby was about to run out the door to catch up with her friends, but could not resist the question. “I haven’t seen him in many years. How’s he doing? I’m amazed I can afford something here.”
“He sells a lot though. I’m Olivia.”
“I’m Abby. Sorry, got to run, my friends are leaving.”
She had turned her back when Olivia shouted after her, “You’re the Abby? From Middletown?”
“Just here for tomorrow’s event! Got to run.” And she was out the door.
Henry, Phoebe, and Lluvia were waiting in the lobby. “You bought one of those? Let’s see it!”
“Just ten dollars. I couldn’t resist it.” She pulled the 8x6 inch print out of the tube and displayed it.
“Yeah, I’ve seen those around,” Henry told them. “A few are quite popular. Kind of different than what you usually see.”
“So what’s this guy like?” Phoebe asked.
Lluvia was hesitant, but she replied: “He’s nice, but kind of obsessed with his artwork. But it looks like he’s selling some now, and that will ease him up a bit. When Diego and I took him and his sister back to Rivergate last year he hardly opened his mouth. He just stared around and drew on a sketchpad. He was kind of a loner then, but has friends now. He’s part of this group of activists. Hey, I know where we are, Henry. I’ve got it from here.”
“Great to meet all of you,” Henry said. “You know... before you go, I just want to tell you how glad I am that Ricardo is including me in this project. I’ll be teaming up with Sara to visit Middletown next week. And I’ll see you all tomorrow. Keep your fingers crossed and hope for a good event.” He held up a V sign and headed back toward the college.

Abby and Wendy - Episode 36

September 03, 2019 by John Kixmiller in Eco Fiction

AN UNUSUAL MEETING

Lluvia slowly steered the canoe toward the right bank. A wide view of Evansville opened up before their eyes. The river seemed to grow and spread out, creating space for many docks lining the shoreline. The tall buildings were all on the left side. On the right-hand side a long finger of parkland extended along the shoreline all the way from Half Moon. The Evansville College of Arts and Sciences was nestled among tall trees like a town of mostly low buildings. Beyond the college, Riverside Boulevard ran all the way to River City.

Docks owned by the Parks Department and the College clustered together, creating a marina of boats, all quite small by ocean standards. The depth of the river was only about 5 to 8 feet, and varied radically with rainfall and the tide. No large yachts or ferryboats could safely navigate the river until the Maywood River joined the Half Moon a few miles downstream. At that point the river became wider, deeper, and crowded in a more urban landscape, climaxing at the great metropolis of River City.

Lluvia maneuvered the canoe along crowded docks to a separate, spacious area owned by the college. They tied the boat to cleats in the wooden platform and a young man in a college tee shirt gave them a hand up. Lluvia told him their business and departure time Sunday morning. He wanted student identification, and for a moment they were stuck, unsure what to do.

Then they heard Abby’s name called, and Sara came rushing up the dock. She was obviously nervous and impatient. “Where have you been?”

“Sorry, sorry,” Phoebe answered. “An emergency, and my phone is gone. None of us have a phone. I’ll tell you more later.”

“Hi Bill,” Sara greeted the dock attendant. “They’re all with me, meeting in the energy building with Professor Richardson. He’ll approve it.”

“We picked up a stray boat,” Lluvia said. “It was floating free a mile upriver. Can you look for an owner?”

In a moment the three visitors and Sara were hurrying across a wide pathway onto the college campus. Old buildings, generally only two stories, were spread out among trees and lawns, and connected by flagstone paths. Abby had never seen anything like it. Wisteria grew up old stonewalls, and discreet signs were posted to guide visitors. The scene was calm and lovely in the early evening shadows. But Sara led them at a furious pace. Phoebe lagged behind, pulling her right leg stiffly forward.

Abby checked her timer. “Hey Sara,” she called. “It’s only 6:30.”

“We’ve reserved the private meeting room starting at six. Ricardo Richardson and a grad student and Freddy Baez are there already. We’ve made a dinner reservation for seven o’clock. This is a big deal. And we’re running out of time.” She’s the organizer, the mover and shaker,Abby told herself. Just follow along.

They practically ran through a maze of buildings where students walked in and out of dormitories and gathered in groups on the lawn. Cars full of arriving students and their luggage jammed the courtyard. Finally, Sara led the group to a modern one-story building with a picture window, glass doors, and wings built out from both sides. A limestone porch with benches and potted gardenias surrounded the main entrance. An elegant bronze sign read, ‘Energy in the Age of Climate Change’.

Groups on the benches said hello to Sara and stared as they hurried by, practically running down a carpeted hallway to wooden double doors. A quiet living room spread out before them. Lamps on poles, couches and easy chairs, bookshelves, paintings, and a sideboard of refreshments were scattered around a wide area. Three men stood to greet them.

Sara took charge. “Professor Richardson, Evansville Record editor Freddy Baez, and assistant professor Henry Tims, this is Abby, Phoebe, and…” Sara waited for the name.

“Lluvia,” Abby told them. They shook hands.

“Call me Ricardo, please. We’re here to talk as equals. Can I get you some coffee, wine, tea, club soda?” The visitors asked for coffee, and Ricardo served them himself.

Freddy showed them to a long couch with a coffee table, and looked at his watch. “Can we delay dinner half an hour at least?” he asked Ricardo. “We need the time.”

“Henry, see if they can give us until 7:30. Tell them we apologize, but it’s important.”

Ricardo Richardson, the host and head of the department, wore a dark tailored suit and a pale blue tie. He was tall and lean, in his forties, brown skinned, with black hair cut very short. A gold ring with a small blue stone glowed on his right ring finger. Freddy Baez did not seem to be concerned about his appearance. He looked just the same to Abby as he had appeared in Reverend Tuck’s office: balding, in his fifties, needing a haircut around the ears, a bit overweight, wearing a shabby pale suit with no tie. He sipped his wine and glanced around impatiently.

Henry Tims looked maybe 25 or 26 years old, very young for an assistant professor. He was short and light skinned, with wispy blond hair falling over his forehead, and a vulnerable baby face free of wrinkles. His jeans and pinstriped shirt were clean and ironed, giving him a bit of formality.

“Yes, right away,” he said, and hurried out the door.

Abby and Phoebe were struggling to keep their eyes off the blue stone in Ricardo’s ring. It’s dreamstone, its dreamstone!Their thoughts were buzzing, and they met each other’s eyes with a look of elated recognition. Here’s someone on our side, they thought. Abby glanced at Lluvia and noticed her wide-eyed look. She knows.

Sara retreated to a corner of the room and made a quick phone call. She wore her usual uniform: STAFF tee shirt, jeans, and wide red headband. “Amy will be here in a minute,” she told them.

“Ah! Excellent.” Ricardo gave a sigh of relief. “Let me give all of you a chance to drink your coffee and relax.” He spoke slowly and gently, with the hint of a Spanish accent. “I want you to know how grateful we are to see you here on our home turf. It’s a tremendous favor. I know you’ve overcome obstacles to be here… you folks are under a microscope these days. But now we have a chance to put our minds together in hopes of a better future. This is a moment blessed by fate.”

Henry returned, nodded to Ricardo, and pulled up a chair.

“We’re just getting started,” his professor told him. He was silent for a minute as the young women drank coffee.

Well, well…thought Abby. Quite an introduction. She was determined to play her role with all the concentration at her command, and bring in Phoebe and Lluvia to offer all those things that she could not.

The door suddenly opened and Amy Zhi walked into the room. Sara hugged her, and introduced her to Lluvia and Phoebe. Amy waved to all and sat in an upholstered armchair to the side of the couch. Henry hurried to get her a cup of coffee.

The professor met everyone’s eyes and began: “I think we’ve all done a good job of arranging this off-the-record meeting, and I think we can count on each other’s confidentiality.”

They nodded.

“Please bear with me while I give a brief description of our situation. We’ll be discussing renewable energy developments that are still in an early, fragile stage, but are becoming too prominent to ignore. As you know, tomorrow the Evansville Board of Trustees will be responding to our student/faculty declaration of climate change commitments. I realize that this document is technically open to change and negotiation. But most of us, including the trustees, are aware that we are drawing a red line, a firm position that we intend to implement with all the influence we can find.”

He paused and drank from a glass of wine. “Okay, now here’s some news. We’ve obtained through the grapevine a summary of the trustees’ response. They will point out that not only our college, but also our city and state, are nowhere near ready to achieve %100 renewable energy. Therefore they – the trustees – will not promise to withdraw all fossil fuel related investments. They will say we are decades, thirty years at a minimum, from banishing fossil fuels from our economy. Therefore, they must continue to invest in enterprises that are currently essential to the welfare of our population, such as fossil fuel heat, transportation, electricity, fertilizer, plastic, and so on. We know that this argument is shared by many of the powers that be in our world, and could have merit, except that over the past thirty years they have done nothing except continue business as usual. And the business interests that the trustees represent have no wish to change, and are ignoring the perilous consequences of delay.”

“Hurry it along, Ricardo!” interrupted Freddy Baez. “We’re from the news business, we’re used to rushing. And in twenty minutes we’re supposed to be eating dinner.”

“I understand, Freddy. But tonight, I don’t care if all the food is overcooked or stone cold. I’ve been waiting a long time for this day. Everyone will get a chance to say their piece.”

He took another swallow of wine. “In maybe ten years, with supporting policies like an escalating carbon taxes, regulations, and investments into solar and wind projects, electricity could be just about 90% renewable. But as we know all too well, our state and nation and most of the globe, do not have the political will to achieve anything drastic at the moment. We don’t have the batteries yet to store enough energy to get through days with no wind and winters with little sun. Without the invention of better batteries, generators will need to continue using natural gas at least part of the time. We don’t have the grid, the heating and cooking equipment, the cars and jet fuel and household appliances to move to 100% renewable, even with a carbon tax and enormous subsidies. And for all those places off the grid the situation is hopeless. Propane tanks populate the countryside like mushrooms. And world-wide, that adds up to an insurmountable problem…except for one thing. The problems look different if you include biogas.

Ricardo looked around the room. “That’s what we need to discuss tonight. We know that all organic material can produce biogas, mostly methane. We know that landfilled organic material gives off methane into the atmosphere where it becomes a greenhouse gas. We know that landfilling organic material is expensive. We know that biogas is much more environmentally friendly than burning wood and related materials. We know waste organic material can be collected from a village or a city or a farm. We know the production of biogas can be a local enterprise or a colossal industry. We know that fracking can be banned as soon as we have better batteries for electrical storage and biogas for furnaces, stoves, and generators. Millions of families already use it all over the world. And tonight, we need to talk about the little-known fact that biogas is used by thousands of households right here in the Half Moon Valley. How did this happen, given the political and business support for fossil fuels? Why can’t we study and discuss it?”

The participants looked at each other, but no one answered. Ricardo waited, and then went on: “We’ve discovered that one of our trustees, Herbert Irving, is alarmed that his Valley Fuels distribution network is losing customers. He’s already investigating the production of biogas by our Parks Department. We know he will convince the governor and his allies to close down that operation unless they meet very strong resistance. We know that Rivergate is already 100% renewable, and Half Moon maybe 50% renewable, and Middletown is rapidly getting into the act. Why can’t we replicate this process? Why can’t we argue that with intelligent biogas production – by intelligent, I mean refusing to grow crops for biofuels on land suitable for food crops, refusing to cut down forests… in other words, producing biogas only from waste, organic garbage, wood that is already being chipped by the Parks Department as a matter of ordinary maintenance, grasses grown on land with soil too poor for human food… Why can’t we study, publicize, and argue for intelligent biogas production?”

He looked at his watch. “Thank you for your patience. The ball is in your court.”

“We’ve got a problem among the students,” Sara replied. “They’re all fired up about Abby’s interview, the mysteries surrounding Middletown, the gender and spiritual issues… but… it seems that they don’t understand biogas very well. It’s not clean and pure like solar and wind. It burns and gives off carbon dioxide, just like fracked gas.”

“Mmmm…” Ricardo smiled. “Tell them the squirrels and the dogs and humans give off carbon dioxide. The tree that falls in the forest and turns into compost gives off carbon dioxide. Cow manure gives off carbon dioxide. But the fracked gas didn’t have to give off itscarbon dioxide. It’s been safely underground for millions of years, and could have stayed there, if we didn’t mine it and burn it. We’re adding carbon to the life cycle, carbon that has been sequestered for eons. That’s the problem. We should stick to our basic talking points: KEEP IT IN THE GROUND. BAN FOSSIL FUELS. And by the way, the organic material that produces biogas has a desirable byproduct: solid compost, pure and ready to use as fertilizer. It’s far better to make biogas out of organic material than to burn it.”

“It seems to me,” Sara retorted, “that you should get those professors in first year earth science to do a better job. The facts seem self-evident to you, but not to most other people.”

“Good point. Yes, a better education is essential. But that will take time, a year at a minimum. We need to act over the next couple of months.”

Freddy Baez leaned forward. “I’m sorry to say this, but you’re all on the wrong track. Sure, improve education, explain the issues, argue your case. But we’ve got hot news here, very hot. That interview with Abby… it’s gone around the world. The attention of the public is at a peak I’ve rarely seen. This wave of interest must be fed, or it will break and disappear. News items are stories. What story should we tell? I ask you, Abby… what story would you recommend?”

She had been waiting for this moment. Her mind was well prepared, the words on the tip of her tongue. “I agree we have to move fast. This public attention you’re talking about… it also includes the wrong kind of attention. It alerts our enemies, and they investigate and create their own story. That’s natural. They’re threatened. This Herbert Irving you mentioned who runs Valley Fuels, he’s losing money. Large parts of this whole system will lose wealth and power, and strike back. And fossil fuels are a cultural as well as an economic problem. The self-esteem of part of our population seems to be married to fossil fuels. If we don’t get our story out there in a powerful way, we’ll be crushed.”

Abby and Wendy - Episode 35

August 14, 2019 by John Kixmiller in Eco Fiction

THE VOYAGE DOWN THE RIVER

Phoebe appeared from under the bridge and said in a whisper: “You’re still here. Thank you! Let’s go.”

“Abby in the bow, just behind the mast. Phoebe in the middle.” They jumped in, Lluvia pushed off, and the canoe was running with the current. “Take that paddle, nice and easy on the left. Watch carefully.”

A blue sail was wrapped tightly around the mast. The motor was not running. The boat drifted into the fast current in the center of the river. For a while no one spoke. The view of the rushing water, the Winkle Family farm, the hills and the cliffs in the distance… It was all enchanting. The light breeze and the roller coaster feel of the current stirred their blood. The dark water glittered in the setting sun. Abby felt the warm sun on her back. All was calm. Abby and Lluvia didn’t make any great effort, but just kept the canoe straight and clear of other small boats coming upriver near the bank. They had a brief view of the town of Half Moon on the left and the park and docks on the right, passed by a few more farms, and then entered a more suburban landscape.

“Sorry to be late,” said Phoebe. “We had a surprise.”

Abby turned her head to look at Phoebe’s face. She doesn’t seem too worried. “Tell us!”

“Zoe had news. One of the reporters from the River City Post – name of Jerry Norris – is known to moonlight for political campaigns. Its possible he’s employed by Confidential Investigations, a well-known creepy outfit that works for big money. The same people stalking you, Abby. Norris is short, thin-faced, blue eyed, pale, receding hairline, in his thirties. Goes around with a broad-shouldered guy. I remember them from the churchyard gate. We were standing there a long time with nothing to do but look at reporters. According to Zoe, Jerry Norris is the most likely ‘reporter who’s not a reporter’, to quote what Marcus told Nico. We’ll have to watch out for him at the event tomorrow.”

Abby was trying to concentrate on her job, looking for dangerous floating objects in the river. “Tell Sara,” she said.

Phoebe continued her story: “Later on, Sulay came bursting into the toy store. She pulled me into the back room and said Marcus had just come into Phones and More to buy a fancy new smart phone. When her father was occupied with another customer he whispered to Sulay: ‘Change all your passwords. Wipe your phones and start over’. She hung around him and made the sale, but that’s all he said that’s of interest to us.”

“Wow,” Abby exclaimed. “Go, Marcus! What did you do?”

“It was already 4:15. Sulay said she’d do her job for you and then find Nico and make security changes in their phones and computer. I ran down to their store and asked her father to wipe my phone and help me get started again. He thinks my phone is too old to be any good, but said he’d wipe it later today. He recommended a new one but I don’t have the money, and now I have no phone. Thank God I never use my computer. And I barely got to you in time. I was panicked I’d miss out.”

Abby looked at Lluvia. “It’s a good thing we have no phones or computers.”

Lluvia laughed. “How did you know?”

“Oh, Jeremy told me about the Phone Rules, and I just didn’t think you’d go in for all that media. You like to be secret, and aren’t afraid of being alone.”

“That’s me.” Lluvia wore a smile during the whole conversation, with her eyes on the water. “But I do want a taste of all of this new action. I’m really glad to see both of you. We know the big change is coming, and this weekend we’ll see for ourselves.”

“And I’m so relieved to be with you,” Abby said. “I really have no idea what I’m doing. Like, what’s the schedule? Where do we sleep? How do we handle this meeting tonight? Who will even show us where to go?”

Phoebe had been glancing back at Lluvia. “I’ve seen you before,” she said suddenly.

“Oh my God,” exclaimed Abby. “You don’t know each other! Phoebe, this is Lluvia!”

“Watch the water, Abby. Don’t turn around. We can hear you.”

“Oh, I’m such an idiot!” Abby muttered. “I was better at this when I was ten. I can’t even remember which of my friends know each other.”

But Lluvia and Phoebe were not listening. They were studying each other’s faces. Even Lluvia had taken her eyes off the water.

“I know I’ve seen you before…” murmured Phoebe. “Somewhere.”

“Of course you have. Can you remember?”

“In the toy store. You buy paint… and brushes, every once in a while.”

Lluvia laughed. “Oh you do remember! And I remember you, and your mother and father. But I’ve seen them more recently… in Rivergate and the forest.”

“Ah. You probably see my parents more than I do. Maybe you paint like my mother.”

“I’ve seen some of her work. But I’m not that kind of artist. I add detail to boats. Like names, and where they’re from. And sometimes fancy little extras. Some people want a lot of detail. We build boats and I ride them all over, taking people and supplies here and there, and fishing. Or just exploring.”

Lluvia glanced at Phoebe’s face again. “You play soccer. I’ve seen you in uniform, working in your store. And we read about your high school team.”

“I destroyed my knee in college this year. But now I coach.” Phoebe’s voice was not full of despair. She seemed to have accepted the fact.

Abby was listening, and trying to maintain her concentration on the water. But she wanted to watch the faces of her friends. Boats passed them going upstream, always close to the bank, and power boats passed them from behind. Lluvia’s canoe held the center of the river. Along the way various streams flowed into the Half Moon, and the river grew wider, and the number of boats increased.

“Are we going to sail?” asked Phoebe. “I’d love to try it.”

“Not today. We don’t need any help going with the current. I use the sail going upriver, and in the open water in the wetland. A few times we’ve gone all the way to the bay and the ocean.”

“I’m envious,” Phoebe said. “It’s different seeing things from the river.”

“Is it ever! I’m kind of addicted to seeing things from the river. But I’m not going to miss out on these new events. I have the feeling I’ll be involved somehow. Chi Chi told me about the meeting tonight, and some kind of event tomorrow.”

“And who’s going to meet us?” asked Abby. “Who will show us around? Where do we sleep?”

“Sara’s supposed to meet us at the dock,” answered Phoebe. “But I was going to text her when we got close, and now I can’t. I hope she shows up anyway.”

“I know my way around a little bit,” Lluvia told them. “I’ve delivered vegetables and biogas to Evansville more times than I can count. And I have a friend there. We’ll stay at his house tonight.”

“So who is it?” Abby almost turned around to see Lluvia’s face. “We’re curious!”

“I was going to surprise you, but I should tell you now. It’s Alex Johnson.”

“Alex… Alex Johnson… Alex and Lexa? You’re kidding me!”

“No, you’re just out of touch.” Lluvia spoke with a wide smile, her eyes on the water.

“Well, how did this happen? I was just thinking about them. About all of us in the Young Warriors’ Club.”

“The Young Warriors’ Club?” asked Phoebe.

“It was our Sunday school when we were children,” Abby explained. “I lost all my friends when I was ten and my family moved.”

You’ll be surprise to hear this,” Luvia said. “Not long after you left Rivergate, Lexa and Alex left too. Their parents had long been separated, and their mother died. Their father took them to River City where he lived. None of us had ever met him, and he had no interest in us. He just took Lexa and Alex and never came back. But then a year ago they showed up out of the blue! Well, Lexa and Alex did. Not the father. It turned out their father had died.”

“My head is spinning,” Abby said. If only I could see Lluvia’s face! she thought.

“Yeah, I’ve got a lot of news.” Lluvia obviously enjoyed surprising Abby. “We didn’t know it, but their father had been a part of some big real estate family, owning tons of property in River City and even in Evansville. Alex’s father left him a little house near the Evansville College campus, and money for his tuition, but otherwise Alex is broke, barely getting by. His father didn’t trust him or something. It’s complicated, and he doesn’t like talking about it. But we’re friends now and we’ll stay with him.”

“So how does he survive?” Phoebe was clearly interested, risking quick glances at Lluvia behind her.

“He’s an artist, and sells woodcut prints. You’ll see at least one of them. The students have adopted the image of Noah’s ark as a kind of insignia, like a badge of identity. I’ve brought some prints to Rivergate, and even up to students at Northern State, where Students Against Fossil Fuels is organizing.”

“I think I did see it from a distance at the churchyard festival. It was big like a flag.” Abby’s mind was racing, but her eyes still looked for obstacles in the water. “Hey! Something floating up ahead! Look. It’s… yes, a loose boat!”

A small dinghy was floating free on the current with no passengers. Lluvia and Abby maneuvered the canoe alongside. Phoebe managed to tie a line to the metal ring on the bow of the little white rowboat, and they began towing it along behind them.

“We’ll leave it at the college dock and see if they can find the owner. Otherwise it’s ours. Who needs a boat? You’d be surprised how often this happens.”

She’s so happy, Abby thought enviously. I wish I felt that way. Is happiness something you can learn?

I’d like a boat!” Phoebe exclaimed. “Can I have it? It almost like your boat, Abby.”

“I wish I had a chance to use mine. You take it, Phoebe. I’m jealous of the boat we’re in. I’d like to get a sail and a little motor like Lluvia’s got.”

“It’s yours, Phoebe, unless someone at the dock locates the owner. It’s good luck to find a boat. And Abby, I’ve got a special present for you, back on the West Isle. We’re going to get you fixed up good.”

“I can’t wait!... Hey, look, there’s Evansville. A few tall buildings and the bridge.”

Abby and Wendy - Episode 34

August 02, 2019 by John Kixmiller in Eco Fiction

GETTING READY TO GO

After walking back from the pre-school, Abby found Officer Harley chatting with a woman at the churchyard gate. She must have been in her late 60s, with white hair, loose skin under her chin, and a formal wool skirt and jacket that seemed meant for a cooler day and a previous decade. No one else was nearby. Abby knew that Sulay, Phoebe, and Nico would be having lunch with Zoe, so she hadn’t expected them, but wondered what had happened to the crowd of previous days.

“I’m glad to see a quiet day,” she said.

“At last,” returned the officer. “May we have many more!”

Abby was about to walk through the gate when he said, “Abby, I’d like to introduce you to Mary Robinson. We go way back.”

Abby turned and shook her outstretched hand.

“She’s a real old school reporter,” Harley said. “Nothing at all like that pack of wolves we’ve seen the last few days.”

“Now, now, I’m sure they’re not that bad,” Mary said, raising her index finger as if teaching a lesson. “Some of those people are my friends. But I admit that I’ve been hoping to avoid the crowd.”

She turned to Abby. “One of my friends told me you were taking business cards the last couple of days, and I don’t want to miss out. I write about politics for the Fellsburg Star. I know we’re not from the valley, but Fellsburg is still the state capital.”

“I’m happy to take your card. But why are you interested?”

“I cover the governor and the wheeling and dealing in state government, and I like to understand things. I like to know what I’m talking about, but I’ve been making no progress on the Rivergate issue. Why is the governor trying to empty a perfectly decent small town? I paid a visit to Rivergate last Monday. I’d read the Sonny Walker interview in the Evansville Record, and a red light went on in my mind. I’m missing something here. So I went and talked to Sonny Walker myself. I can see he was telling the truth. They actually have adjusted to losing the bridge. There’s no emergency that I can see. But Sonny pretends to have no idea about the governor’s motivations. He actually claimed that the governor is just ill informed! I’m not taken in by that nonsense, and I’m sure Sonny isn’t either. I’m supposed to come up with an article on this subject, but no one will tell me what’s behind this story.”

“Why would you think I know anything about it?” Abby asked. I’ve talked too much for one day, she thought. I’m not getting into it now.

“Let me thank you for your patience. I know people bother you day after day, sometimes in truly frightening ways. But I must tell you, young lady, I do my homework. I know… you know… things that I need to know. I respect you, indeed I do. So I assume you’re doing your best, doing the right thing in awful circumstances. So please keep my card. If you ever want to talk to me I’ll be here in a couple of hours. I still get around. And please hear me when I say that I know things you need to know.” The woman raised her index finger again, looking at Abby with fierce blue eyes. “I would tell you these things straight out because I like you, but I have a job to do. So I’ll trade.”

Abby was unwilling to promise anything. “I appreciate your offer,” she said. “I’ll think about it.”

“Of course,” Mary said. “You’ll have to do your homework to have any trust in me. And you’ll also have to realize that you truly need information. I have that information.”

Abby didn’t know what to say. I might have that information already, but I’m not sure. Can I risk talking to her? Can I risk not talking to her?

“Thank you for the time, my dear. Don’t lose that card. One of these days you’ll need it. Bye now. Thanks for your time.” And Mary walked slowly to a nearby old jeep.

“I can’t believe she has a car like that!” Abby was bewildered.

“She likes to get around in the snow or rain. She was here in the church when the hailstorm hit. You have to take Mary Robinson seriously. She’s helped people get elected, and helped put people in jail. We go way back.”

“I just want to thank you for all your help!” Abby realized that she had underestimated Officer Harley. “And please, this world looks very big and confusing to me. If you ever see that I’m making a mistake, don’t hesitate to tell me.”

“I’ll do that. You’re a nice kid with a lot on your shoulders. You’ve never had a reason to visit our station, but I’m sure you know we’re just down Main Street near Grove Avenue, next to the bank. The chief is always complaining that nobody ever tells him anything. Please stop by. You’ll be doing yourself a favor.”

She thanked him and walked her bike across the lawn to the cottage.

Abby couldn’t sit still. There were too many things to think about, so she got out the hoe and started in on the weeds. It was a job she didn’t like to do, because she had a weak spot for the weeds. In her opinion, weeds were perfectly good plants that nobody appreciates because they don’t understand them. This actually was Wendy’s firmly held view of the whole situation. The difference between Abby and her godmother was that Wendy knew the virtues of hundreds of wild plants, while Abby knew the virtues of only a few.

But people in this town expect an orderly churchyard,she thought for the hundredth time. They will take it out on Tuck and me if this place looks shabby to them. And I need something to do or I’ll worry myself into a panic.

So she started in on the pigweed, the galinsoga, and the mugwort growing between the rows of marigolds and snapdragons near the front fence. This was exactly the area that a pedestrian would notice.

Wendy told me galinsoga is called ‘quickweed’ because it will go to seed five times between May and September. It’s true, but I still like the plants, so vulnerable with those tiny white flowers, so easy to uproot. But you turn around and they are back again. Everything dies and is reborn. Kayla isn’t ready to think about that. I take it for granted. I assume it’s obvious, but of course it isn’t. So I put my foot in it, put the weight of this strange universe on that poor girl’s shoulders. What an idiot I am!

She moved on to the vegetable garden, and picked the last of the ripe vegetables. Abby knew perfectly well that she was starving. No breakfast, no lunch. She was losing weight in this stressful time. But she refused to go to Scutter’s, or up to Fred Peterson’s roadside market, or even to Sammy’s Coffee Shop.

I’m getting paranoid. I’ve got to get out of town.

She simmered another vegetable stew, ate the last of the cheese left from two weeks ago, and swallowed a lemon cuke from the garden. Feeling a little better, she lay down.

It’s already 3:30. I meet Lluvia by 5! What am I going to bring? A few extra clothes… a jacket… a hat… a toothbrush. And I actually have money! That’s all I can think of. Be back here by Sunday. They’ll probably break into this place again. Thank God my seeds are still with Jeremy and Reverend Tuck, and my papers and dreamstone charm with Phoebe. I’ll carry my notebook of new songs with me, even though no one could possibly care. And of course Lluvia’s note will always be on me.

Abby began to dream of the river. She could see it going by, and feel the boat rocking on the waters and the excitement of being swept along. She just went with it, and suddenly saw Lluvia’s face.

Abby sat bolt upright. Her timer read 4:15. Just enough time to take a shower and pack a few things. By 4:25 she was ready to go, and paced the room for ten minutes, saying a prayer. Then she slipped out the back window into the late afternoon sun. Around behind the apple trees she crept, through the wild area, and up under the scaffolding to the alley opening onto Old Stone Road. It was 4:46. She stood near the wrought iron door in silence, looking for Sulay or Nico. Nothing moved on Old Stone Road.

At 4:50 she unlocked the door and stepped through, locked it behind her, and crossed the street. She didn’t hurry. She didn’t look around. Stable Lane, the alley behind the backyards of the toy store and the coffee shop, was deserted. It was too early for soccer. People were eating sandwiches at tables behind the coffee shop. Phoebe was nowhere to be seen. Abby didn’t stop, but took a quick left through the open lawn between two apartment buildings. She crossed Marie Place, and disappeared into the trees next to an enormous run-down old house. Bending to the right, she slipped into the trees near the Main Street Bridge, and went on through the willow trees bordering the river.

Cemetery Bridge loomed ahead, showing the dark water running through a wide stone arch. The water was lower than usual. Abby hugged the edge of the river and crept under the bridge, sloshing through knee high water. A muddy bank appeared just ahead, screened by trees, with a few gravestones visible at a distance. It was a perfect spot for a small boat to secretly come ashore.

Abby waited impatiently. It was 5:02. Come on, Lluvia! Come on, Phoebe! The minutes seemed like hours. In a few seconds a canoe appeared out of the shadows, turned sharply, and slid up the muddy bank. Lluvia jumped out and pulled the side of the boat up the bank. She held the boat there as Abby embraced her, kissing her on the cheek, and mumbling, “Oh this is so wonderful!”

She looks so young, Abby thought, but she was a grade ahead of me. Lluvia’s black hair glistened. Her copper skin was chapped by the wind and sun.

“What fun!” exclaimed Lluvia. “Jump in.”

“But Phoebe’s supposed to be here. Oh, I don’t know what to do… where could she be?”

And suddenly Phoebe waded out from under the bridge and said in a whisper, “You’re still here. I’m so happy… let’s go.”

Abby and Wendy - Episode 33

July 26, 2019 by John Kixmiller in Eco Fiction

THE EARTH’S MAGIC

Abby mulled over recent events as she ate a late lunch, and then she stared at the ceiling. I wish I knew what had happened to Rose. The mystery seemed just out of Abby’s reach. There were only a few options, and some of them were bad. First of all, Abby didn’t believe that Rose was sick. She hadn’t acted sick. She had acted strange, even threatening, in a cold, unemotional way. She was like a different person,thought Abby. And itseems clear that Rob was just not buying into whatever the problem was.

Could it be that Rose is the one who is threatened? the voice in her mind asked.

But how?Abby didn’t believe Rose’s remark about, ‘I’m not retiring’. Of course she wasn’t retiring. Abby was only working mornings, had no prospect of an administrative job, and had refused a full-time job. Already there was more work than Rose, Abby, and Rob could do comfortably. Tom Winkle was not looking for a job. He was a grandfather, fulfilling his role as a benevolent community member, and advising his son on the farm.

Perhaps something different is threatening Rose…

Abby recalled her mother’s words about Rose being her second cousin or something. Rose’s grandmother was… let’s see… the nanny for… Wendy and Chi Chi’s mother! Oh my God! And my great grandmother was the house manager. And they were sisters. Did they die in the tragedy? I don’t even know. But one thing for sure, Rose knows about this and is not mentioning it. But what could be threatening about it? I must speak to Wendy. Why didn’t I ask her before? Perhaps I can find Chi Chi…

Abby continued to obsess about this mystery as the evening shadows crossed the churchyard. A fear of walking to the garden center came over her. She wanted a clean get-away on the following day so passionately that she had become fanatically cautious. There was danger all around. Even if Chi Chi knew something, did it matter to find out immediately? Probably not. The Chi Chi meeting could be postponed.

It was time for a final watering of everything. The churchyard would be dry for the next four days. Monday evening would be Abby’s next chance to give the plants any water. The drought seemed likely to continue indefinitely.

Friday morning went much like the previous two days, except for an incident just before lunch that left Abby feeling that she’d made a serious mistake. Rose was absent again, and Tom Winkle continued to play a prominent role. The group began the day admiring their new creation. The play city, now with gardens and a forest in the bright sunlight, seemed even more beautiful and fascinating than the day before. The characters began to come alive.

Tension arose over the ownership of the treasure in the forest. The children had disagreements over what the treasure actually was, and what it was good for. After an hour of intense dialogue between many characters, the children agreed that the crystal ball in the wizard’s hand, the glass ball in the chest, and even the various multi-colored jewels, all could work magic. Yet what this magic consisted of remained a secret.

Finally, the dragon and the wizard were confronted by various invaders, who denied any wish to steal the treasure, but were desperate to know what it was, and what it could do. The nature of magic drew everyone’s attention. But the dragon (Franklyn had taken on this role) was totally unwilling to let anyone near the treasure. He maintained that he had no idea what it could do, but it was his job to keep intruders away. The wizard (played by Lucy) said she knew what the magic was, but it was too dangerous for ordinary people. This idea was unacceptable to the rest of the group, who crowded into the forest. The Good Fairy (played by Tiny) had to intervene from the sky above to stop the conflict, and make a compromise. Everyone would be allowed on look at the treasure. But still no clue was offered concerning the nature of magic.

This problem was still being debated when Kayla discovered a long earthworm escaping from the soil around a potted maple tree. All attention shifted to this remarkable worm. It stretched itself out four or five inches long, and moved out of the forest toward the city. Kayla stood up in shock, wondering what to do.

“Stop it! Stop it!” she cried.

Abby prevented Franklyn from grabbing the intruder, and declared that earthworms have a much lower temperature than humans, who are hot, almost 99 degrees. The touch of a human is burning to an earthworm. She laid down a piece of paper, and when the worm had crawled onto it she transferred it to a glass jar offered by Rob. Tom led a discussion about soil animals. Eventually the group decided to return the worm to its home back in the maple tree area.

After the short hike they released the worm into the loose soil where a baby maple tree had been the day before. The group was satisfied. But as the worm gratefully disappeared into the cool underground, Kayla stood up in alarm.

“Where is it going?” she asked. “How can anything live under there? Isn’t that a bad place?”

In a calm voice, Tom said, “No, it’s a good place for roots and soil animals. All plants and trees send roots into the soil.”

Kayla looked doubtful, but did not reply. Rob suggested they head back for lunch. On the way a discussion arose over what worms do, what they eat, and why they are good for the soil. As they approached the house Abby asked them to take a look at the three compost bins. Rob explained that they put their leftover or spoiled food in the first bin, and showed them the cornhusks and salad greens left over from the night before. Abby opened the second bin, and pointed out the worms and rolypolys and centipedes. Kayla was tall enough to see without help, and was fascinated, not so much by the worms as by the disintegration of what had formerly been food. She couldn’t believe that the materials in the first bin would actually turn into the decomposing materials in the second bin.

Abby then showed her the third bin, and Kayla was absolutely shocked to see dark soil. “It’s like magic!” she cried. “How could this happen?”

Abby explained that part of the earth’s magic is to turn plant and animal material back into soil. This is how the earth nourishes the life of the future. The children had questions.

“Do worms themselves turn back into soil?”

“What about birds?”

“Squirrels?”

“Yes,” Abby replied. “All plants and animals turn back into soil.”

Kayla was still staring in shock, and turned to Abby. “But… but…” She could hardly get the words out, “but what about people?”

Abby realized that she’d gotten in over her head, and looked to Rob and Tom Winkle. Rob drew his finger across his throat to silently tell Abby to shut up. Tom shrugged with a bewildered look. The children were all staring silently at Abby, waiting for a reply.

I’ve got to say something,she thought. They’ll be even more scared if I won’t answer the question. And it’s complicated! What about the soul? Can I tell them that this has been a running debate among humans since the dawn of time? Well, let’s be honest about bodies first.

“You know, Kayla, in some ways humans are related to animals.”

Kayla drew herself up as tall as she could stand. “I…” she said, “am not an animal!”

“I’m not saying you are,” Abby replied, struggling to keep her voice calm. “I’m just saying we’re all related.”

“I’m sorry,” Rob broke in. “I hate to interrupt, but we barely have time for lunch before the parents and the afternoon group will be arriving.”

In a few minutes everyone was eating sandwiches and seemed to have forgotten the major issue they had just been discussing. Kayla gave Abby a few thoughtful looks, but didn’t raise the subject again. When the parents arrived Rob took a few minutes on the side with Kayla’s mother. Abby was sure he was explaining the discussion of composting bodies.

I’ve been such a fool! She told herself. I really don’t know what I’m doing. I’m not ready for this job. Why can’t I just shut up?

As Abby prepared to leave, Tom approached her. “Don’t take it too hard. Children see squirrels decomposing on the road, they see their grandparents buried. And as for the human soul, you were right to leave that to the parents. Don’t take it too hard.”

She thanked him with deep emotion, but couldn’t rid herself of the feeling that she’d made a terrible mistake. Kayla – and who knows how many of us – are not ready for this subject. But why did I have to be the one to raise the issue? I’m sorry, Kayla!

Abby and Wendy - Episode 32

July 16, 2019 by John Kixmiller in Eco Fiction

#pleasehelpus

As Abby rode home after lunch, she thanked her lucky stars for another beautiful morning. Such good chemistry, she told herself. Now, just one more good day, and then this outrageously interesting weekend! Oh, please help us! She begged her angel to guide her.

Back at the church another crowd, even larger than the day before, awaited her at the gate. Once again Officer Harley, Sulay, Nico, and Phoebe were defending the churchyard. Abby decided to take things very casually.

“Hi, everyone. Coming through. Just a little space please. I live here.”

“Where do you work?” asked a voice.

“Please,” Abby said. “Yesterday I promised to consider planning another interview. I took your cards. But anyone who bothers me at work will never speak to me again.”

She noticed one reporter ask Sulay, “Are you employed by the Evansville Record?”

“Bill, lay off,” came a female voice. Abby recognized Zoe from the day before. “She’s just a kid.”

“Yeah, but she’s news.”

“Hi, Zoe,” Abby exclaimed. “Good to see you. Officer Harley, thanks so much for helping us! I’ll be coming through with these three.” She pushed Sulay, Nico, and Phoebe toward the gate. Meanwhile Abby whispered a few words in Zoe’s ear: “You and Barry wait a few minutes, I’ll be back.” On her way through the gate half a dozen business cards were thrust into her hand.

They walked over to the bench. Phoebe opened the discussion: “I don’t know if this is wonderful or terrible or what, but we’ve got to talk about it.”

Abby’s heart made a leap. Oh, no, just when things were going so well…please, make it okay…

“Sulay, Nico,” Phoebe looked at them with a serious face, “Tell her all about it.”

Sulay was looking at the ground. “I didn’t mean to create a problem. I’ll erase it all if you want.”

“I didn’t say it wasa problem,” returned Phoebe. “In fact, I said it might be wonderful. I just don’t know, and we’ve got to alert Abby.” Phoebe looked sad, downcast. “Sulay, I don’t mean to make you feel bad. If it is a problem, I’m the most to blame! You asked me, and I gave you permission to create the blog. I encouraged you and Nico. None of us expected this to happen.”

Sulay was still looking at the ground. “All right,” she muttered. “I understand. It’s a lot of pressure. I’ll tell Abby.”

“Ithink it’s fabulous,” Nico cut in. “I’m happy to talk about it.” He looked Abby in the eyes. “It’s all about #pleasehelpus… It went viral. It’s all over the place. And Sulay’s dad is mad because all these people are trying to talk to Sulay, and Sara is mad because she’s afraid it will bring a rowdy crowd and disrupters to the demonstration. So, whether it’s great or terrible, it’s been bad for Sulay, and I don’t think that’s fair. Phoebe and Sara both gave her permission. Her father did about a million dollars worth of business this morning. I actually had the idea for the blog in the first place. Look, Abby! Sulay is not doing stuff all by herself! We’re all in on this.”

“That’s very true, Nico. Thank you.” Phoebe hugged him. “You say it much better than I do.” Nico smiled and his eyes glistened.

Gradually Abby got a clear run-through of the story. After Abby’s escape from Middletown in the hail storm, Sulay – with Nico’s help – created a blog called SULAY AND NICO’S NEWS FROM MIDDLETOWN. They published the photos and videos that were used by Sara for the Evansville Record, plus narratives and photos the Record did not publish, such as photos and recordings of the band.

Sara, Cali, the band, and hundreds of others started sharing the material all over various platforms. Sara’s political blog and STAFF UNITED – the official outlet for Students Against Fossil Fuels – shared and referred people to NEWS FROM MIDDLETOWN. Cali’s blog – THE THUNDER ROLLING BAND – shared and referred people to News From Middletown. A video of a recent Thunder Rolling concert in the Evansville student center had reached thousands. The college radio show included music and interviews from the band and became a podcast. After Sara’s interview with Abby spread through the River Valley, Sulay and Nico’s creation became a monster of a news outlet.

And then, Sulay’s video of Abby’s words with the crowd of journalists the day before went viral. The whole group of blogs as well as personal accounts on social media began using the tag #pleasehelpus. And members of the Evansville College student body began using it to invite people to the demonstration. Sara and Amy, however, were firm in criticizing the term ‘demonstration’, and pleaded with everyone to use the term ‘gathering’. They wanted to advertise the event as a group of student and faculty advisors gathering to make the trustees aware of opinion on campus. But now it looked like the event had gotten out of control.

Abby was experiencing mental bottleneck syndrome, too much information to process. The voice in her mind said, You’ve still got Zoe and Barry over there. Catch them before it’s too late!The message was urgent.

Abby jumped up and walked to the gate. “I need to speak to these two,” she told Officer Harley. Other journalists complained. She took more cards, promising to get back to them. Zoe and Barry entered, and followed Abby to the bench. No introductions were necessary.

“Can we go inside?” asked Zoe. I feel kind of exposed out here. Look, they’re taking our picture.”

“Right,” Abby replied. “Meet me at the door.” She speed walked around through the front door and opened the side door for the group. They made a circle of chairs in the basement meeting room.

After a moment of silence, Abby turned to Zoe and Barry and said, “Please help us!” Everyone laughed. The tension all turned to laughter.

Barry, an older, gray-haired man in a wrinkled suit, was the first to recover. “Go ahead, tell us how we can help. And remember, we reach a large public. What are our marching orders?”

Abby, Phoebe, Sulay, and Nico came out with the whole story, or at least as much of it as they were comfortable telling. The two journalists asked questions, and then looked at each other and nodded.

“Can I sum it up and see if you agree?” Zoe asked. Her voice was friendly. She seemed almost like a mentor or social worker. “That hashtag, #pleasehelpus… It has at least two meanings. You want help to make sure your Evansville trustees event doesn’t turn into a violent protest. You want the students to appear smart and reasonable. Barry and I think you have a good case to make, but you need a calm atmosphere to make it. Right?”

“Exactly,” answered Phoebe.

Zoe and Barry looked at each other again. Zoe nodded, and Barry said, “The second meaning is a little harder to explain, because you all seem to hiding something. Don’t protest. You probably have good reason for handling things the way you do. We get the impression that you have a very large agenda, with a lot of pieces to it. I finally got better understanding by seeing Abby’s interview. When she said that we need to save the world for the life to come, the five billion years for our children’s children’s children, it occurred to me that you are serious. You actually mean it, and expect to do something significant. Not just you, Abby, but all of you. I can see you’ve got quite a following. Now… just to make it short, I think on the one hand you need to keep your event calm and reasonable, but on the other hand you have an urgent message, and you believe we’re running out of time. So you need help in the sense that we all need help. This is a do or die moment for life as we know it. Please help us! Am I right?”

“You do your homework!” Phoebe exclaimed. “That’s it.”

Abby and Wendy - Episode 31

July 09, 2019 by John Kixmiller in Eco Fiction

THE PLOT THICKENS

Rose was absent again at the pre-school the following day. Abby, Tom, and Rob helped the group move the play city and the forest to the sunny spot near the south windows. It was a lengthy task. The children expanded the city in the process, and added characters. Franklyn wanted a wizard to live in the forest. He also wondered if there were any bad guys there. Tiny reported that Emily, the daughter of the Good Fairy, had said there definitely were bad guys, but she wasn’t sure they were in the forest. Lucy said the bad guys always want to steal the treasure.

“Is there really a treasure?” asked Ned. “I’ve never seen it.”

“That doesn’t mean it isn’t there,” Lucy told him.

“This is our city,” Rob said. “It’s our story. Let me find a few more people you might want to live here.” He crossed the large room, rummaged in a wooden chest, and returned with a little metal wizard with a tall pointed hat, a cloak, a staff, and a clear glass crystal ball. Rob handed it to Franklyn, who stared at it in awe. “Look! The ball changes color!” And indeed, the transparent ball faintly shimmered with colors as it moved.

Rob opened his other hand and displayed a metal dragon with outstretched wings, standing on the edge of a treasure chest containing another glass ball, as well as tiny stones of different colors. The dragon may have been just landing, or just taking off. Rob handed it to Ned. The others gathered round to examine these delights.

Franklyn placed the wizard in the middle of the forest, and Ned moved the trees slightly to place the treasure there also. Jane wanted to know if the dragon was good or bad. The group disagreed on that subject. Tiny flew her witch into the forest and said that the witch was in charge of all of them.

Franklyn wasn’t sure, and asked her if the witch was good or bad.

“Good,” Tiny replied with confidence.

“Then who are the bad guys,” Franklyn wanted to know.

Rob again rummaged in the chest, and returned with an assortment of figures and set them out in a row. There were comic book heroes and villains, men in suits, a princess, and a hand carved figure of the Good Fairy, more than twice as tall as any other character.

“Do Robin Hood and his band live in the forest?” asked Ned.

“The Good Fairy says they do,” answered Tiny.

Rob took another trip to the wooden chest and returned with very small figures made of green felt with painted faces. Each wore the tell-tale green Robin Hood jacket and hat. And next to Robin Hood’s band Rob set out a series of gnomes clothed in brightly colored felt.

“Oooh!” said Kayla. “Can these be over here?” She placed the gnomes among the trees near her, and one next to her house. “This gnome is our guard,” she said.

“I know where the bad guys come from,” Lucy declared. “They come from town, and want to steal the treasure. Everyone needs to guard the treasure.”

This story developed for a whole hour. Rob found angels, more men in suits, and a policeman. Wonder Woman and Robin Hood’s band created a line of defense. Tiny placed the Good Fairy on a windowsill above the city, and made it clear that the Good Fairy was very aware of all happenings below, and could intervene whenever she wanted to. Jane insisted that there should be animals, including dogs, birds, cats, and raccoons.

“Can we have an owl?” asked Ned. Rob found a small, very beautiful gray owl with wide brown eyes.

“I want to see the owl again!” Kayla burst out. “In the churchyard. Just like that one.”

“Can we go to the Secret Place?” Tiny asked, looking straight at Abby.

She hesitated, looked at Rob, and then replied, “It’s too far to go there today. But perhaps we can go outside and try to be very quiet and see animals.”

“Wonderful idea,” said Tom. “I know where woodchucks and raccoons live.”

The group’s enthusiasm reached a fever pitch. Rob found a pair of binoculars and promised each child a chance to see things far away. Tom led the group out to explore.

Abby and Wendy - Episode 30

July 03, 2019 by John Kixmiller in Eco Fiction

ABBY, PHOEBE, SULAY AND NICO MAKE A PLAN

“I’ll be happy to take your business cards and get back to you,” Abby told the reporters. “But remember, we all want to be treated with respect, not viewed as devils. Please help us!”

Abby realized that Phoebe, Sulay, and Nico were kneeling around her, taking pictures. Sulay had her fancy video camera. The reporters continued to shout questions from the sidewalk, and Officer Harley tried to disperse the crowd. Two reporters insisted on their right to stand there, and Harley stayed at the gate.

Abby sat on the grass just in front of the bench, facing her three friends. They were now far enough from the street to speak softly and not be heard. “Go Abby!” said Sulay. “Nice job.”

“Yeah,” added Phoebe. “You might have won a few friends among that group. We need friends.”

“And we got good pictures too,” Nico said. “If any of them get nasty we know who they are.”

Abby looked over at the sidewalk thoughtfully. “I don’t think this crowd was nasty. They’re just trying to do their job. Our real enemies are not those people, and if they get aggressive it’s just pressure from their bosses. But I’m still concerned about stalkers, and maybe a reporter or two who wants a big scoop of some kind.”

“So how do we plan out this weekend?” asked Phoebe. “Stephanie told me I’m going with you!” She found it hard to keep her voice down. “What are the details?”

“I need the help of all three of you this Friday,” Abby said.

“I hope so,” returned Nico. “The last couple of days have been boring. What can we do?”

Abby took a quick look around and was satisfied that no one was nearby. “On Friday afternoon – 5pm to be exact – Phoebe and I need to meet a boat on the near side of the Half Moon just beyond Cemetery Bridge. We must not be photographed or bothered. We need a clean get-away.”

“Oh, I can’t wait,” said Phoebe, very pleased with this conversation.

“But your idea might be a little shaky,” Sulay told Abby.

“Let us help you,” added Phoebe. “What’s the plan so far?”

“It ispretty shaky. Sulay is right. I was thinking of going out the door between the church and the old school building to Old Stone Road, and crossing the street to Stable Lane. Part way down, almost opposite the back door of Sammy’s, there’s a gap between the buildings right across Marie Place. Then if you bend right there’s trees near the Main Street Bridge, and all along the River to Cemetery Bridge. The water is low, and Phoebe and I can walk under it to the far side.”

After some discussion they hammered out a strategy. At 4:50 Sulay would leave Sammy’s front door and walk up to the corner of Bridge Avenue and Old Stone Road. Nico would leave by the back door and wait at the alley near the back wall of the churchyard. If they spotted anything suspicious, either one could walk past the wrought iron door from Old Stone Road to the churchyard. Abby would be waiting there, and could be warned with a signal. A slight shake of the head would do. Meanwhile, Phoebe could stand on the back steps of the toy store and signal Abby if the coast was clear. If all went well Phoebe would follow Abby at a distance and warn her if they were followed.

“The plan depends on timing,” Phoebe pointed out. “We don’t want Sulay, Nico, or me loitering around for twenty minutes looking nervous. At 4:50, Abby must step out onto Old Stone Road and cross immediately.”

Nico and Sulay looked at each other with raised eyebrows. “That’s right,” Sulay told him. “We have the same idea. If Abby is followed, we’ll go after the stalker and take pictures. They get scared when we take their pictures now. Some of those guys probably lost their stalker jobs once their faces got shared all over.”

Phoebe agreed. “It looks good to me. Nico?”

“We got it. Perfect. It’s like a plan for a free kick in soccer. Everyone moves in sync.”

“If I’m not there, Abby, just go. I can get a ride on Saturday morning.”

Abby hugged her, and slapped hands with Sulay and Nico. The group parted in high spirits. The sidewalk was clear.

THE RED JEWEL

Episode 4

Written By John KixMiller

© 2020 All Rights Reserved

THE VEGETABLE STONE

THE RED JEWEL

Episode 3

Written By John KixMiller

© 2020 All Rights Reserved

WILL YOU KEEP IT FOR ME?

THE RED JEWEL

Episode 2

Written By John KixMiller

© 2020 All Rights Reserved

GLENDA AND ABBY WORRY ABOUT TINY

THE RED JEWEL

Episode 1

Written By John KixMiller

© 2020 All Rights Reserved

FREE TO DO WHAT?

THE HUMAN ONE

THE REFUGE OF LOST SOULS

FOLLOWING THE VOICES

SAILING IN THE LIVING WORLD

THE STUDENTS AGAINST FOSSIL FUELS EVENT

THE LONG ROAD

Episode 37

AN UNUSUAL MEETING

THE VOYAGE DOWN THE RIVER

GETTING READY TO GO

THE EARTH’S MAGIC

#pleasehelpus

THE PLOT THICKENS

ABBY, PHOEBE, SULAY AND NICO MAKE A PLAN

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