The Pine Hollow Chronicles. Ch.4

Chapter 4

“Hi!  You must be Emily!”  Em slumped down in her seat.  It didn’t help that the English teacher had chosen the moment after class had started to address her.  Everyone was staring at her again. 

     “Oh..EM..ily,” Em heard Connor say, realizing her full name for the first time. The class twittered, and Ms. Markham shot him a “teacher look” before turning her attention back to Em.  “Do you want to come up and introduce yourself?” she asked her.  Em felt herself blushing, and shook her head no, annoyed once again with how the day was going. 
      “Ok, you don’t have to,” Ms. Markham said to her.  The teacher talked to her like she was talking to a real person and not a student.  Em looked up and was surprised to see Ms. Markham watching her thoughtfully.  “We’re glad you’re here Emily.”  She said.  It sounded genuine, and try as she might, Em couldn’t detect that forced cheerfulness most teachers she’d known had possessed.

                Sam raised his hand, “What are we doing today?” he asked.  “Is it still diagraming?”

Ms. Markham smiled.  “Maybe.”  The class groaned.  Savannah blurted out, “Ms. Markham! Nobody does that in real life.  Can you tell us a story instead?”

                “YEAH,” came murmurs of agreement from the class, causing Ms. Markham to raise her hand and call for quiet.  She sighed and put her hand on her forehead like she had a headache, but she was smiling.  “First of all,” she began.  “Savannah, please raise your hand next time.  And you’re right.  Not everyone diagrams, but because I think that you’re so important, I am forcing it upon you.  It helps you write correctly, and no one can do that these days either.”

                “Not the lecture!” cried Connor.  Ms. Markham stopped and stared at him. 

“Sorry,” he whispered. 

She went on, “I will lecture you as often as I want to.”  The class laughed.  “As for stories, who do you think I am?  Ms. Buzzell?”  At this comment, the class fell into a strange silence.  Em looked around and noticed a few kids glancing at each other in surprise.  Anna and Sam exchanged one of the glances, causing Em to wonder what was going on.  Savannah, who was oblivious to the silence, broke in (with her hand raised this time) “but you have such good stories.  PLEASE!  Tell us about your kids.”

                Ms. Markham smiled. “Alright, but only if you promise to diagram without complaining.  After all, it is English class, and stories are a part of what we do.  Especially if there are fun words in them.”

“We promise,” blurted Savannah, as if she spoke for the entire class.

“Well,” said Ms. Markham.   “First things first.  Pull out your agendas and copy down today’s verse.”  She motioned to the white board.  There, in the corner, spelled out in cardboard letters, was the phrase “Bit O’ Truth.”  The teacher looked at Em, “My favorite candy when I was a kid were those “Bit O’ Honey candies,” she explained.  “I think truth is kind of like candy for the soul.  Every day I’ll make you copy a new verse, just to think about, and remember.  You’ll never know when you need a bit of truth in your day!”  She smiled.

Em read the quote underneath the letters, neatly written in cursive.  “My God, My God, why have you abandoned me?  Why are you so far away when I groan for help?”

She picked up her pencil and began writing clumsily in cursive.  They hadn’t spent that much time on cursive at her last school.  What an odd quote.  She was used to teachers writing inspirational things, with deep meanings like:  “Seize the day!” or “Tomorrow is only a day away,” (but maybe that last one was a song?).   Em read it again, and the words seemed hit her with an almost physical intensity.  It felt real.  This poor person was alone and abandoned- by God of all people!  She could relate.

After giving the class about five minutes to finish their “Bit O’ Truth,” Ms. Markham paused for discussion.  “What do you think about this quote?” she asked, and waited.  The class was silent.  Much to Em’s dismay, Ms. Markham looked straight at her.  “Any thoughts, Emily?”  Emily wondered how much the teachers here knew about her life.  She felt angry and embarrassed that this particular “Bit O’ Truth” might be for her, although that was just a guess.  It was time to get these people off her back.

“It probably doesn’t matter,” she said, faking indifference, “There isn’t a God anyway.”  Although it seemed impossible, the class actually got quieter at this statement.  It was almost like they actually stopped breathing.

Ms. Markham smiled at this response.  “Then who is there to be angry at?” she asked.  Em didn’t know what this meant, so she sat silently.  “Well,” said the teacher after a moment.  “All the more reason to discuss this point!”

 Anna slipped up her hand, helping to take the edge off the class’ obvious discomfort.  “I didn’t think God would ever leave someone.”

“No,” agreed Ms. Markham.  “Do you think there are times in our lives, though, when it feels like he does?”  The class remained silent, and Em stared at a tiny black spot in the grain of the desk she was seated at.  She didn’t want to look up, because, for some reason, she was afraid she would cry.  When no one answered, Ms. Markham said, “It might be a good idea for us to figure this out, including what we should do when we feel abandoned or alone.” 

Em thought about the teacher’s question.  “Who is there to be angry at?” she asked herself, turning the words over in her mind.  “What a dumb question.  People.  I am angry at people.”  Her anger grew as she thought about her dad leaving, her mom forcing her here, and now this dumb teacher.  Where was a paper clip when she needed it?

The class remained silent, and Ms. Markham simply went on, “We will save that for our next discussion!  Now, for my story and then the diagrams!”  She said the word “diagrams” with such gusto that the class groaned. 

“Hey!  You promised,” Ms. Markham called out as she walked over to her desk.  The class was almost instantaneously quiet at this reprimand.   The teacher began rummaging around in her purse, which she kept under her desk.

“I want to show you something!  Hold on, I have to find it.”  Ms. Markham kept searching.  “Oh!  Here!” she said brightly.  From her purse she pulled out a slender box, long, and covered with red velvet.

“I don’t have a story about my kids,” she apologized as she made her way to the front of the room, ‘but I thought this was kind of cool.  We were cleaning out my parent’s house in South Minneapolis.  My mother had forgotten about this box, and we found it when we were going through some old trunks in the attic.  Their house was built in 1912, so the attic has a lot of strange dark spaces to hide old boxes.”

The velvet on the box was worn down to black in several spots.  Ms. Markham clicked it open and pulled out a necklace, held aloft for the class to see.  “Oooh,” said the middle schoolers.  Em sighed, still staring at her desk.

“My mother told me this necklace is even older than their house,” continued Ms. Markham.  “It was her great-grandmother’s.  I guess she brought it over from Ireland.  At least, I think it was Ireland.  Maybe it was Scotland.  I get those two places mixed up. That’s why I don’t teach Geography.”

“Waa Waa,” broke in Connor, highlighting the teacher’s bad joke.

“Thanks for that,” Ms. Markham said.

“Any time,” replied Connor.

Ms. Markham sighed, “Anyway, I think it is supposed to be a snowflake.  But, see…” she held it up higher and looked at it, “at all the places the metal intersects to make the shape, there are tiny knots.  They are so small, you have to look pretty close.”

Emily glanced up then, and was surprised.  The necklace chain was ugly. It clearly didn’t match the charm.  But the silver snowflake was delicate, and, for lack of a better word, different.  As it dangled from the chain and turned in the light it was sometimes silver, and sometimes…maybe… clear?  No, that would be impossible, Em thought quickly.

Ms. Markham was still speaking, “I thought the necklace was beautiful, but I liked the family legend that goes along with it a lot better.” She paused to hear if the class would prompt her to tell it.  They remained quiet, so she continued.  “Okay,” she leaned in closer for dramatic effect. “Legend has it that my great-grandmother loved to go for walks in the ancient woods by her home.  Apparently, she was very beautiful, like me.”

 (“Good one,” someone whispered.  Em thought it was probably Connor).

 If Ms. Markham heard it, she ignored it.  “Unbeknownst to her (by the way, I love that word-unbeknownst) she was being watched by a stranger.  Each day the stranger watched my great-grandmother walking in the woods, and was enchanted by her beauty.  One day, the stranger could not help but speak with her.  It was near twilight, and mist was filling the hallows between the trees.”  (Ms. Markham was clearly enjoying her embellishments).  “He stepped out of the woods, onto the little path and said, ‘Hullo!  My name is Rowan Kinsford.’  He said it just like that-quick and awkward!

 ‘Hello, Rowan Kinsford,” replied my great- grandmother.  She was a bit perplexed (another great word) since she didn’t recognize the last name Kinsford.   The valley she lived in was small, and families knew one another.  But, she didn’t feel scared.  In fact, she felt safe, and calm.  My mother said that my great-grandmother felt as if she was talking to someone she knew as well as she knew the forest.”

 Em rolled her eyes.  Ms. Markhams’s mother must be as over dramatic as she was.  The rest of the class, however, was hanging on every word. 

“Needless to say,” the teacher went on, “my great-grandmother met with Rowan Kinsford in the woods every evening, and they fell in love.”

The class giggled at the word “love.”  Ms. Johnson Markham for them to settle down before she continued.

 “One evening, my great-grandmother came to meet Jack, and he was nowhere to be found.   She waited and waited.  He never came.  She was very concerned.  Night after night she went into the woods and he never came.  My great-grandmother was heart-broken.  The woods, that had been such a place of enchantment for her, were now a reminder of her sadness.  She decided she could no longer remain in the valley and made plans to leave for America.” 

“On the night before she was to leave, she decided to take one last walk in the twilight, and suddenly he was there!  Rowan Kinsford, after all this time!  His eyes were deep, and sad.  He apologized time after time to my great-grandmother, who remained aloof.  “Please, believe my love is true,” he begged her.  “I knew that I should not speak with you, as rules set in place before my existence forbid me.  But I simply could not stop my heart from being connected with yours.” 

“Ew,” one student whispered.

The story continued.  “My great-grandmother had no idea what he meant, of course.  I suppose she knew that their love could not continue.  However, before she left, he handed her this knotted snowflake.  “May you always look at this and remember me,” he whispered before he left.  ‘May the love in your life be as pure as the snow.  May each knot represent the connections to the loves that will bring you joy therein, and may those loves make you stronger.  A cord of three strands is not easily broken.’  With that statement, he handed her the necklace and left.  No one was ever to see Rowan Kinsford again.  My great-grandmother left for America in the morning.”

The class seemed to let out a collective sigh as the story ended.  Even Emily had to admit it was kind of interesting.  Over dramatic and silly, but it kept her attention for a few minutes.  Sam raised his hand, “Is that really a true story, Ms. Markham? “he asked doubtfully.

Ms. Markham just smiled, “Legends aren’t usually all true, Sam.  Especially if they are old family legends.  Parts can be true here or there, but most get changed over time.”  She paused, then pointed up at the “Bit O’ Truth” board.  “That’s why it is good to stick closely to these words we know are true, and take everything else with a grain of salt.”

Savannah sighed, “How beautiful.  Who really was Rowan Kinsford after all?

Ms. Markham smiled, “Oh, no one really knows.  He probably didn’t even exist.  Anyway-“ she put the necklace back in the velvet box, “onward to diagrams!”

Em didn’t pay attention to whether the class kept their promise about complaining.  She couldn’t get the necklace out of her head.  It just sat there, in the box next to Ms. Johnson as she began to teach.  There was something about it that made her heart jump when she looked at it.  She wanted to see it again.  It was a nice thought: to have love follow you your whole life, bringing you joy.  Em missed love.  It didn’t feel like things such as that existed any more.  The necklace reminded her, just a little, that once in her life, it had.

 

 

Brilliantly Ordinary

Dull.  Ordinary.  Just like everything else.  Yet, when it is seen in the right light; through the right eyes, the ordinary suddenly becomes something brilliant.  This concept is evident in photography.  It is when something considered to be plain, captured in just the right way, leaps from the picture and leaves us speechless.

Sometimes the day to day drone of life is nearly crushing with its “sameness.”  The struggles, prayers, work, and failures keep up their repetition in 4/4 time.  However, there is someone who sees us in just the right light.  The great orchestrator of our lives, the conductor of our time, sees us through the right eyes.  When he is invited in, the beat of our lives may stay the same, but now there is a miraculously woven symphony therein.  The ordinary suddenly becomes something brilliant!  Do not grow weary in the ordinary.  Ask, and he will show you how remarkable it can be.

Pine Hollow Chronicles: Ch. 3

Chapter 3

“You can have my cheese stick.”  Em looked up from the seat in her new math class to see a boy standing beside her holding out one of those white cheese logs that came in a package.  The cheese looked…wilted.

                “Oh,” replied Em.  She was quickly realizing that this class was too small to get lost in.  It had only taken her 10 minutes to fill out the paperwork given to her by Principal Tuttle, and then the school secretary had walked her down to class.  Pine Hollow was apparently shaped like a huge square, with the middle schoolers assigned one hallway, and the rest of the elementary assigned another one.

 “The school only goes to eighth grade,” Mrs. Montrose had explained as they walked.  “Next year we are thinking about expanding to ninth grade!   The kids seem to like us that much!”  She paused and then said, “And we like them too.”  Em thought that last part seemed forced, like something school secretaries had to say or be fired.  Em  pictured Mr. Tuttle actually trying to fire someone.  His eyebrows would form huge upside-down V’s over his angry eyes.  Disturbing.

                After the short walk, she had been deposited into a small classroom with large windows on one side, making up the furthest wall.  The room didn’t have desks, but rather long white tables with folding chairs. A teacher’s desk sat in the corner, and a whiteboard graced the front wall.  Em did her best to not make eye contact as she was introduced to the group and shown where to put her supplies.  She found herself sitting at the end of one of the tables, near the window.  The sun was finally starting to shine, but the world outside was frosted and dead looking.  The highway could be seen running along the edge of the school grounds, with an occasional car zipping by. 

     Next was nearly a whole hour of math class, and she was honestly not paying too much attention until the boy had thrust his floppy looking cheese at her.

         “Don’t do it!” shrieked the curly headed girl Em had met before school started.  Even though she sat across the room, her voice was loud enough for the room next door to hear.  She came scampering over.  “You just pulled that thing out of your pocket,” she accused the boy, pointing at the big front pocket of the boy’s hoodie.  “Have you had that in their all morning?”

                The boy just started at her.  Then slowly, he opened the cheese stick and took a huge bite, smiling at her.  “Yep,” he said.  He then turned and held it out to Em.  “You can still have the rest,” he said seriously.   “GROSS,” shrieked Curly.  By then, the tall girl from the morning and another boy had walked up.  The tall girl started laughing, and the other boy shook his head. 

                “Conner, that is kind of disgusting,” he said.  His voice was low, and he clearly enjoying the scene.  He smiled shyly at Em.  The tall girl stopped laughing, and glancing at Em said, “Yeah, Conner.  You’re scaring the new girl.”

                It took Emily a second to realize that the entire class was up, walking around, and most of them had food of some kind.   Whoops.  It must have been some sort of designated break time that she’d missed the teacher announcing.  Emily really didn’t know what to say in response, so she stared dumbly up at the kids surrounding her.

                The girl with the curly hair spoke up ignoring her silence, “Do you have a snack?  It is snack time and Mrs. Phillips is actually letting us take a break to eat.”

                “Um.  No,” replied Em.

                “See!  That’s why I offered her mine,” said Connor matter-of-factly.

                Curly shuddered.  “I have an extra granola bar in my backpack.  Let me get it.”  Without waiting for a response, she flew out the room.

                The teacher, who’d been staring at her computer, immediately looked up and watched the fleeting teen run out of the room .  She sighed, and got up to follow her out the door calling, “Savannah!!” in a stern voice.

                “Oops,” said Conner. 

                “Is she going to get in trouble?” asked Em, feeling sort of embarrassed.  After all, Curly did run into the hall to help her, the “poor new kid.”

                “Nope,” said Tall girl.  “Savannah runs out of the class almost everyday.  She is kinda high octane.”  Emily must have looked puzzled because she went on to explain, “We’re supposed to sign out.”

“Oh.”

The girl smiled, “I’m Anna by the way.  We kind of met this morning.”

                “Em,” replied Em.

                “HUH?” interjected Conner. 

Anna pushed him on the shoulder.  “That’s her NAME.”

                “OH,” replied Conner laughing at himself.  ‘Sorry, EM,” he said, placing too much emphasis on the M.  “Conner.”  He wiped his cheesy hands on his shirt and held it out to like he was going to shake her hand.

                Em just stared at him, and Anna and the other boy burst out laughing.

                “Good call,” said the boy after he calmed down.  “I’m Sam.”

                Curly, or Savannah, was walking back into the room by that time, granola bar in hand, followed by a tired looking Mrs. Phillips.  Savannah must not have gotten into any trouble because she immediately came over to the group and said breathlessly, “Here.”  She handed the bar to Em, who took it like it was some sort of poison.

                The kids didn’t seem to notice.  “So, did you just move here?” asked Sam.   Em nodded. 

“That’s nice,” said the Tall girl, or Anna.  “I’ve lived here my whole life.”  She made it sound like it was the worst thing ever.

                “I think we all have!” said Savannah enthusiastically. She gave Anna a mock glare “Maple Heights isn’t that bad, Anna.”

                “Nope.  Moved here from Nam,” added Connor in a strange accent.  Everyone kind of paused and stared at him.    Sam and Savannah started laughing, but Anna shook her head.  “Why is that funny?” she asked.  Em even had to smile.   The kid was so strange it was almost funny, but Anna was right-she didn’t know why he was funny.

                Connor kept up the strange accent, “Where deed you come froom?” he inquired of Em.  His country impression (if that’s what it was) was terrible.

                “We moved here from Arizona,” Em said quietly.  She was surprised that it was so easy to speak after the months she’d spend in silence. 

                “Not fair!” said Savannah.

                “Hey, you just said Maple Heights wasn’t so bad,” Sam reminded her.

                Savannah thought for a moment, “Well, we do have that Potato Parade,”  she finally said.

                “Yay,” said Anna with zero emotion.

                “Arizona!” breathed Savannah with her usual enthusiasm.  “Are there really cactuses there?”

                “Cacti!” broke in Connor’s weird accent.  Everyone laughed this time, except Em, who did smile a little.

                “Um, yeah,” she said.

 The teacher chose that moment to interrupt the conversation and end break time.  “30 minutes left of math, and then you’re out of here,” she told them.  “Let’s focus and finish strong!”  The class groaned, and Anna whispered, “She always says that,” before heading back to her seat.    “You’ll like next hour,” said Savannah before she walked away. “ It’s English.  Ms. Andrews is fun.”

                Em was grateful that the group of kids surrounding her were going to their seats, sparing her from answering any more questions.  She was annoyed that her mom had been right about the small class thing.  It was way too hard to disappear here.  She sighed and stared out the window again, wishing she was in one of those cars flying down the frozen highway.

The Contest Story (I lost..but it's still an entertaining read!!)

“Why do you have locks on your refrigerator?” The question held a hint of sarcasm laced with genuine curiosity.  Ellie looked up from the smoothie she was blending for the girl and laughed.  “Oh, they were for Jakey.  A few years ago he used to wake up super early in the morning and steal junk food.” 

Ellie turned back to the blender and pulsed it a few more times.  Even though it had been nearly two years ago, she remembered it like it was yesterday.  Right after she and her husband had brought home the new baby, three year old Jacob had begun his early morning “experiments”.  One morning he had stolen ice cream and chocolate syrup from the freezer and turned his bedroom into an ice cream sundae.  Hence the locks.

Ellie took the lid from the blender and sloppily poured the thick purplish liquid into a neon cup.  Every time the girl came over, she always requested smoothies.  Ellie liked this because it gave her a chance to sneak some vegetables into her diet.

The girl, a dark haired pre-teenager, laughed at the story and sipped from the cup.  She made a face.  “Straw?” she requested.

“Oh sorry,” exclaimed Ellie.  She supposed the straw was half the experience, so she grabbed one quickly from the cupboard and handed it to the girl.  The girl sipped again then said, “We used to have locks on our refrigerator too.  But it was because we weren’t allowed to eat.”  She sipped again, with a little more vigor, like she might actually be afraid Ellie would take the drink away.

“What?!” exclaimed Ellie.  “Not allowed to eat?”

The girl treated it like it was a little thing.  “Nope.  My sister and I had to sneak food when they were sleeping.  I used to get so thirsty I’d go outside and eat snow.”

Ellie stepped over and hugged the girl tightly.  She was at a loss for words.  “I-I’m sorry,” was all she could muster.

“Ehh,” said the girl, like it wasn’t a big deal.  Ellie squeezed her shoulders again.  “Praise God it isn’t like that now.”  

The girl sighed, “Yeah,” she said.  “I’m glad I don’t live there anymore.”

Ellie was saddened by this exchange, but she wasn’t surprised. “There” was a place called “The Community.” The Community was a HUD housing project located in the city.   It was a hotbed of drugs, gangs, and anger.  In the midst of it, The Community was crawling with children; the innocents who always seemed to be in the way.   In fact, this past year alone there had been three shootings where minors had been wounded.  There were even reports of a 14 year old wielding one of the weapons during the last.

Ellie had a hard time believing places like this existed in America.  She wondered if her friends believed her when she told them the stories of brokenness and heartbreak.   She and her husband had encountered much in their 12 year ministry to The Community.  Like how, on their second Sunday at church, they had met a mother and her teenage son.  The boy was silent with arms crossed, staring at the ground.  Ellie just assumed he was another rebellious teen.  Later that afternoon he went home and shot himself in the head.  She sang at the funeral.

There was another time a woman they’d been ministering to had called her up at 1 A.M, higher than a kite, threatening to kill her.  Ellie had called the police to do a well-check on the woman the previous morning, when she hadn’t shown up for church.  It turned out the woman had been using, with a child in the home.  The police had removed the child into protective custody, and the woman was obviously upset.  Ellie and her husband acquired the family dog after that incident.

Ellie and the girl finished their smoothies.  Ellie was thankful that she had the opportunity to be a blessing to this young lady.  She reflected inwardly about the numerous times she’d wanted to give up the ministry.  Admittedly, in her prayer times, Ellie had often begged God to let them quit.  She was often afraid, and people in The Community weren’t interested in church.  Yet she never felt like God had given them the green light to stop.  Lots of people quit when it came to The Community, or worse, refused to acknowledge its existence. 

“Trust.”  That word from the Lord came back to her again and again when she would pray.  Ellie had a hard time with that.  It was easier to give in to her anxieties when she saw darkness every day.   But even in her own failings she could not deny that God had always been faithful.  The times God had protected her family and provided for them were permanently stamped in her memory.

And then again, two years ago, the whisper echoed back into her heart.   “Trust.”    She realized, in fact, that the Lord was still not allowing them to quit. He reminded her that he was her rock when was afraid, and he wanted to be theirs too.  The Lord was asking them to stop their full time jobs in the church and expand their youth discipleship program in The Community.  He had given them a vision to mentor kids, take them into their home, bring them to healthy churches, and even pilot a literacy program.  It was insane, and Ellie had no idea where the money would come from.   But still…”Trust.”

And now, here she was.  Ellie snapped out of her thoughts and looked at the girl.  She drew in a breath.  “I know the past is hard sometimes, isn’t it.”  The girl didn’t look at her, but nodded.  “You know,” said Ellie with conviction, “you can really trust the Lord.  He loves you, hon.  He’ll never ever let you go.”

  “And God help us, we won’t either.”   That last part was a thought and a prayer.  The girl looked at Ellie and smiled.  “Thank you.”  She said softly.

The Parable of the Pear Tree

“I almost remember the year my grandparents moved in next door.  It’s a little hazy in my mind’s eye, because I was still young.  I remember my grandmother bringing her collection of seeds and, what I thought to be, tiny sticks.  I recall my grandfather shaking his head.  ‘Maude,’ he would say.  ‘Those cuttings won’t grow here!  The climate is all wrong.”    My grandmother would just shake her head and smile.

‘You never know until you try,’ she replied brightly, undeterred. 

Year after year, she would work in her garden, feeding and nurturing her seeds.  Laboriously, she proved my grandfather wrong.  One day I watched her as she watered what appeared to be a small, but strong growing tree.  Yet, as the garden bloomed every spring, flowers blossomed, and vegetables ripened, the stubborn tree never seemed to do anything.  It just existed.  All around it was brilliant life, and fruit.  To my inexperienced eyes, the tree was neither beautiful nor useful.  The odd thing, however, was that it was on this tree that my grandmother poured the majority of her time and attention.

As a child I enjoyed the summer tomatoes and fall raspberries.  We carved the garden’s pumpkins in the fall.  And the tree still stood.  Finally, around the garden’s fourth year, when I was old enough to voice my opinion in the intelligent way early teenagers often do, I asked her, ‘Why do you spend so much time on that boring tree?  It just stands there.  You should just take it out and plant something fun there.  Maybe an apple tree!’

My grandmother stopped her work and smiled at me.  ‘Amelia,” she said.  “I know this tree doesn’t look like much now, but it has a surprise hidden deep inside of it.  If I give up now, we’d never see the amazing things it has to produce!’

Little did I know just how long it would take.  After nearly twelve years, the tree finally began to fruit.  Tiny, pearly pears began to grow.  The pears were, by far, the most delicious and famous of all the fruit in my grandmother’s garden.  And although she is gone, those pears are her legacy to this day.  Every spring her garden still blooms and the pears delight both children and adults alike in my parent’s neighborhood.  Her life lesson to me?  Never give up.  Great things may take time, but they are well worth it.”

The Pine Hollow Chronicles- ch 2

Chapter 2

                “WHOA!”  Em heard the loud warning call too late as she plowed head first into someone just inside the door.  The person she’d run into took a few steps back to avoid falling over.  Emily, embarrassed, untangled herself from the stranger. 

                “Can I help you?” asked a man’s voice.  Em looked up into the face of her human road block, surprised to see laughing eyes under abnormally huge eyebrows.  They were so funny, it caught her off guard and she actually smiled.

                “Um…maybe…” she managed to get out before catching her breath.  “Sorry!  I mean…” she faltered.  Her mind went blank and she realized that these might have been the most words she’d spoken to anyone outside of her family in months.

                “Well-“ said the stranger, sensing her discomfort.  “Let’s start with names.  Mine’s Mr. Tuttle.  I’m the Principal here at Pine Hollow.  And you are…?“

                Emily felt the familiar sinking feeling in her stomach.  Oh great.  The principal.

                “Emily Preston,” she mumbled.  “I’m-“

                “The new eighth grader!” a springy voice perked up from somewhere behind her.  Em swung around and saw two other girls who looked her age.  One, with tight curls and bright eyes smiled at her.  The other, taller and athletic, smiled cautiously and looked Emily up and down.  Before Emily could refuse to acknowledge them, like normal, Curly grabbed her hand and pulled her closer.

                “I’m so glad you’re here!” she said, talking unbelievably fast.  “Our class is so small.  AND it’s full of BOYS!  Anna and I are the only eighth grade girls and can you imagine dealing with that every day?  AND…” 

                “Savannah!”  Mr. Tuttle’s voice broke through the girl’s cascade of words.  “Hold on just a second, please.”

                The girl froze in mid-sentence and slowly turned on her toes, smiling.  “Oh.  Sorry Mr. T.  What?”

Em couldn’t help but laugh in her head.  Huge Eyebrow Man’s nickname was Mr. T.  That was the name of a character in an old show her dad used to watch.  Only in that show, Mr. T was a big scary guy with a tough attitude.  Mr. Tuttle seemed the exact opposite of that.   The principal put his hand on lightly Em’s shoulder.  “Let’s head into the office so we can get you settled in,” he said to her.    “Girls,” he said glancing at the other two eighth graders.  “Why don’t you head to class?  I’ll have Mrs. Montrose bring her down when we’re ready.”

Curly, or Savannah, sighed dramatically.  Anna, the tall girl, rolled her eyes at her, and smiled cautiously at Em.  Then both girls disappeared down the narrow hallway, with Curly nearly pulling the other girl out of her shoes.

Em felt the principal’s hand on her shoulder as it guided her through a large green door with a huge glass window on it. “Office” was printed in white block letters across the window.  Mr. T turned to the right and led her into another room.  It must have been his personal office.  It was complete with a mini fridge and picture frames of his two grown children.    At least, Em thought they were his children.  They had giant, matching eyebrows.

The principal motioned for Emily to sit on a stiff looking love seat, situated in the corner of the little room.  Em eyed it for a second.  It seemed a bit odd for a principal to have a sofa in his office.  Maybe he lounged around on it and watched movies on his phone during the day?  Mr. Tuttle must have noticed Em’s confused look because he said,” That old love seat belonged to my Grandma Alice.  It was my inheritance present, and I thought it might make my office seem more homey.”  He paused.  “It IS a little old and stiff, but good memories…” he smiled and repeated himself again as if to emphasize his point…”good memories.”  Em nodded like she knew exactly what those good memories were.  However, in reality, she was starting to be concerned that her new principal might be crazy.  She sat down on the sofa and looked at her hands.

                “Emily,” the principal said after taking a moment to look at some papers on his desk.  “It is a little unusual for a student to come to school on the first day without a parent accompanying her.”

                “Oh?” She responded intelligently.  She felt herself getting angrier at her mom for putting her into this awkward spot.  Now, not only did she come from a broken home, she also came from one with an absent parent.  “I really am a charity case,” she thought.  Immediately she quieted the shame from that thought with the familiar refrain she’d taught herself to repeat when she couldn’t handle the pain: “Who cares?  It doesn’t matter anyway.”  If she told that to herself enough, it really didn’t matter.  Nothing did.

                Mr. Tuttle sensed Em tightening up, and smiled at her.  His enormous eyebrows almost touched together.  “Don’t worry though!” he said.  “It says in my paperwork that you’re 14 years old!  4 more years until adulthood.  I’m sure you can answer these questions as well as your mom.  Here-“ he said handing her a packet of papers.  “I just need you to fill out some of these for the enrollment paperwork.”  He glanced up at an apple shaped clock on his wall.   “I have to go check on class 219 before the bell rings.  Just finish up in here and bring the forms to Mrs. Montrose.  She is our school secretary, nurse, teacher’s aid, notary, and recess teacher.”   Mr. Tuttle looked at her, as if to see her reaction to the long list of jobs given the poor Mrs. Montrose.  Em just stared at him.

                “When you teach at a private school, my dear, you have at least seven other jobs than your own!”  Mr. Tuttle laughed too hard at his own joke.  He then left, still chuckling to himself.  “Seven  other jobs…maybe eight!” she heard him reemphasize as he headed down the hallway, laughing again.

Em sighed.  Maybe she could take to six hours fill out the paper work, and miss the whole school day.  She rifled through the first few papers.  They looked pretty easy.  Basic questions, such as her name and birthday were simple enough.  She frowned as she continued to look.  She didn’t know any of the insurance information that the school was asking for, nor the name of a doctor in case of an emergency.  She would have to force her mom to come in tomorrow and fill that stuff out.

The last page, however, was the most perplexing of all.  The entire page was nearly blank except for a short blip of writing at the top.  It was a question. “Who are you?” it read.  Em groaned inwardly.  Essay questions were the worst, and this was a weird one.  Em sat for a minute thinking.  “What a dumb question,” she said aloud to herself.  “This entire packet is about who I am.”  The more she thought about the question, the more annoyed she became.   This was what she didn’t like about school, or counselors.  Everyone was always trying to get her to think deeply about everything, and it was getting old.   Her dad didn’t want her, she was far away from anything familiar, and she was convinced that life was just a series of painful things, blending into more pain.  “And eventually you die,” she thought darkly to herself.

She grabbed the pencil, and started filling out the packet, tackling that ridiculous question first.  “Who am I?” she thought to herself, half angry and half hurting.  With one stray tear rolling down her cheek, she wrote the only words that brought her comfort, “It doesn’t matter. “

 

The Pine Hollow Chronicles: Chapter 1

It was COLD.  Not a silly, "wear a hat and you will be alright" cold, but a ridiculous capital letter COLD.  One time, Em had had a kitten crawl up her leggings.  Its tiny claws pricked her skin on its way up her leg.  That was how this cold felt, but worse.  It poked itself into her bones until she couldn’t even FEEL her hands.

 “Well,” she thought to herself, attempting to bend the frozen nubs that had once been her fingers.  “I guess I can feel them a little, but it doesn’t feel good.”  She hated Minnesota already.

                Emily took a deep breath and attempted to act like the cold wasn’t so bad.  Her mom, walking past her, gave her one of those sideways looks she always gave.  The look that said, “See, I told you so,” but only for a second.  Then it pretended it never said anything at all.  Em despised that look.  It was probably because her mom had told her to wear her gigantic coat to school. Right before they headed out to the car, she had decided not to wear it.   Lugging her backpack with millions of school supplies that she needed for her new school was hard enough.  Why add the extra weight of a coat?  It turned out to be a potentially life threatening decision.

Em’s little sister, Jillian, hunkered down in a massive coat-armored ball.  She looked like a blue blob with arms and legs.  Em was sure Jillian was giving her a know-it-all look too, but she couldn’t see her face.

                That morning, when Em had woken up, it was still dark outside.  She had already been in a bad mood because she knew it would be her first day at a new school.  Since her parent’s divorce, she’d developed a love/hate relationship with school.  Mostly hate.  Right after the divorce, there had been some mornings when her mom didn’t want to get up.  Those mornings, Em was forced to be on Jillian “duty.”  That meant helping her younger sister eat breakfast, get dressed, and get to the bus.  Often, Em would then crawl back into bed herself, hating world. 

But suddenly one day, her mom hopped out of bed, dusted off her college diploma, and found a new teaching job in the frozen north.  Minnesota.  Practically an alien planet, as far as Em was concerned.  But, it was where her mom had grown up, and Em figured the place was comforting to her mom in some way.  “Some weird, frozen way,” she grumbled to herself.

                “You’re going to love your new school,” her mom had chirped, as she shoved the Cheerio box her way.  “The eighth grade class only has 7 students in it.  Can you imagine how much learning time you’ll get?” 

                “Yay,” she said.  She hoped her sarcastic enthusiasm showed.  Her mom ignored her.  “Plus,” she said, “You’ll get extra one-on-one math coaching in the mornings-if you need it.”

                “Why isn’t Jillian going to private school?” Em asked, annoyed as usual about the topic.

                Mom paused.  “Emily, we’ve been through this.  I think this school will be a good fit for you.”  That was her Mom’s way of saying that Jillian hadn’t freaked out after her dad left.  Em had basically failed every subject, and had refused to talk to everyone.  On the days she did make it to school, she found a paper clip and carved disturbing symbols on her hands. 

                “Yeah.  She doesn’t deserve to be punished,” sighed Em.

                “Emily.”  Her mom was exasperated.  “This isn’t punishment.  You just need to see the world from a different perspective right now.  I don’t think a public school has that to offer…” she paused again.

                “But Mom, It’s… a Christian School.  We don’t even go to church!  What if these people are cult members?”

                “You were the one carving devil symbols on your hands,” piped up Jilly from the seat next to her.

                “Shut up!” Em growled at Jilly.  In fairness, she hadn’t known it was a devil symbol exactly, (although she had an idea).  The fact that it was made her seem angrier at society, and she was okay with that.

                “Girls,” her mom said, her voice tinged with exhaustion.  “I wish I could make things right.  I wish I could change what happened.  I can’t.  This is the best I can do.”

                Em looked at her shoes.  She hated when her mom talked like this.  The pain in her stomach bubbled up and turned into an anger that felt like a knife, cutting her heart in half.   It was impossible to talk when she felt like this.  The rest of breakfast continued in silence.

                It was after breakfast that Em had made the awful decision to forgo her coat.  As her family headed to the car, Emily thought about her new school, and her stomach flip flopped.  “Pine Hollow the Private School” was how she thought of it, even though it was just called Pine Hollow.  The school was about a twenty minute drive away.  Jilly would head to her school after Em was dropped off.

 It turned out that her mom had forgotten how chilly Minnesota mornings could be.   She hadn’t started the car ahead of time to warm it up.  Even after they had been on the road several minutes, the car was still COLD.  Em looked at her fingers.  They were bright red.  She bunched herself up in the backseat and looked out the window.  Snow was floating down from the sky, which was still dark.  “Does the sun ever shine here?” Em thought gloomily.  She watched as the snowflakes landed on the window.  They didn’t even melt- the windows were too cold.  She couldn’t help but be amazed at the glittery, perfect designs that made up each flake.  Something about them made her feel smaller.  Almost safe.  Almost normal. 

                “Here we are!”  Her mom’s voice interrupted her snowflake trance, and without warning the familiar pain came somersaulting back in.  Pulling inside herself, Em grabbed her backpack off the floor and jumped out of the car door.  “Bye!” her mom yelled.  Em slammed the door without answering.  She didn’t even bother looking up as she ran through the razor blade cold and through the school doors.