The Island of Beyond by Elizabeth Atkinson

Author:Elizabeth Atkinson
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Fiction - Middle Grade, Middle-Grade Fiction, Middle-Grade Novel, Middle-Grade Novels, novel, Novels, Social Issues, Friendship, Social Issues, Self-Esteem & Self-Reliance, Lifestyles, Country Life, Adventure, Early Adolescence, Elizabeth Atkinson, Family, Friends, Friends and Family, Homosexuality, Island, Mysteries, Outdoors, Secrets, Self-discovery, Wilderness
Publisher: Lerner Publishing Group
Published: 2016-04-01T04:00:00+00:00

As soon as I stepped outside into the fresh air I could hear the same hammering sound I had heard the previous morning. It seemed to be coming from the other side of the island. I walked down to the dock, and as I followed the shoreline the pounding grew louder until I was practically on top of the noise. And then, just like before, it suddenly stopped.

I climbed through the thick brush, past scratchy twigs, between huge boulders, and down a hill, trying to find the source. Ahead of me I saw a dip in the ground, with a tiny log cabin sitting in it, as if the earth were trying to swallow it. A crooked metal chimney stuck out of the metal roof, which was covered in large patches of moss. The front porch was just wide enough to hold a hammock at one end and a red rocking chair at the other.

I tiptoed to the side of the house and peeked through the window. A table and two chairs took up the center of the room, and I could see an old sink, a stove, and a small refrigerator lining the wall. It was shadowy, so I couldn’t make out many details. “Just in time for a mug of joe!”

I spun around. Uncle Ned marched down into the dip carrying a backpack over his left shoulder. The white stubble I’d seen all over his face last time we met was now a beard.

For some reason, I felt ashamed, like I had been caught stealing something, even though I was just peeking in. “Someone’s been hammering,” I stammered, “and I was trying to figure out where it was coming from.”

“Hmm . . . ” he said and paused to listen. “Don’t hear it.”

He shook his backpack down his arm and placed it on the ground. His bones cracked as he stretched in different directions.

“Are you just getting back from your trip?” I asked.

The old man rolled his head around his neck and sighed. “Wasn’t a trip exactly, but I was away.”

Then he pulled a bottle from the back of his overalls and took a huge gulp.

“Cider?”

I shook my head. “No thanks.”

“Well,” he said, wiping his rough white beard with his other hand, “now that you’re here, you might as well come on in.”

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