Stones by William Bell

Author:William Bell
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Young Adult, Historical
ISBN: 9780385674089
Publisher: San Val
Published: 2001-01-01T05:00:00+00:00

2

A while later we were walking hand in hand in Tudhope Park, along the edge of the lake away from the main beach. Two toddlers stood in the shallows with their mother, tossing bits of bread to a family of ducks, while farther out the father hurled a stick for a golden retriever. The afternoon sun blazed down on us, and a cool breeze blew in off the lake.

We sat on top of a picnic table, looking past old willows with twisted, gnarled trunks out over the green rippled water where a few powerboats churned lines of white foam behind them.

“So, what do I do?” I asked finally.

“What we do,” Raphaella replied, “is go back into the past. Find out all we can about that maple forest.”

“And the clearing and ruined cabin. The one you haven’t seen yet.”

“Right. You said it was a weird place and that the woman seems to start and end her walk in that area.”

“It’s weird, all right. As if the little clearing has its own weather.”

“What is it that she calls out night after night?”

“The first word sounds like ‘joo-ball’ and then she says ‘Help me.’”

“Well, that’s easy. Jubal is a man’s name.”

The trouble with hanging around with sharp people is that every once in a while they make you feel stupid. Jubal. Help me, Jubal. Why hadn’t I thought of that?

“Right,” I agreed, pretending I had come to the same conclusion myself.

“Jubal means ‘he who makes music,’ or something like that,” Raphaella said.

“How do —?”

“I’ve studied names and their meanings. Also numerology. Sort of a hobby.”

“A hob —”

“Never mind. Your name means ‘red jewel,’ in case you didn’t know.”

“And yours?”

“Divine healer. Anyway, we have to go back into the past. Learn stuff. Find out who the woman is. It might be fun,” she said unconvincingly.

“Yeah. And you know what else I want to do? Wait for her. In the bush. See her. But it might be dangerous, especially if I bumped into those men …”

One of the little kids shrieked with joy when the dog bounded into the lake in a shower of water, scattering the ducks in a chorus of angry quacks. Suddenly I felt ridiculous. There we were, calmly discussing ghosts. Or presences, as Raphaella would insist.

“There shouldn’t be any danger, Garnet. Spirits from the past don’t hurt you. Physically, I mean. They’re, well, sort or re-enacting something, whatever it is that keeps them walking.”

“I think I’d like to try to see her.”

“Okay, let’s do it.”

“You’ll come?”

“Yes. In the meantime, Sherlock Havelock, we’ve got some research to do.”

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