Break the Stone
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My soul split between the options ahead
Searching
For a glimpse of what habits to shed
“Hey, Bear—what rhymes with “shed?” I wish Ma wasn’t dead.”
A cardinal flew up toward a nest in the loft. Bear jumped in the air in chase and placed both front paws on the ladder, barking. Raelyn’s cowgirl boots scuffed along her barn’s floor while she followed and stared up at the forbidden loft. The sweet scent of straw wafted through the autumn air.
Why has it been forbidden?
Her tanned hand hovered over the first ladder rung.
“Bear, you know we’re not allowed to go up. What do you think?” The golden retriever wagged his tail. “Okay, but if Pa catches us, I’m blaming you.”
After she climbed up, she looked around at the emptiness. Wrinkling her nose, Raelyn poked her head over the side. Bear’s rear wiggled back and forth. His pathetic whining made her smile.
“Don’t worry, boy.” Her voice lowered. “You’re not missing anything. There’s only dust up here.”
He barked below.
“Shh!”
Raelyn tried to balance carefully along the thin boards, but the toe of her boot caught on one of the slats, sending her to her knees. Her satchel strap rolled off her shoulder, spilling out her journal and camera. She groaned then picked up the Canon and shot pictures from different angles.
The sunlight beamed through the rafters and a shimmering light caught her eye. Her gaze landed on a metal latch sticking out from the back corner. Raelyn could almost hear it whispering her name. Her pulse quickened. She crept closer and jiggled the rusty handle on a warped wooden door. She gripped it harder and yanked.
“Hun?” Pa yelled from the field.
Raelyn jumped at the sound of his husky voice. Stumbling backward, she began to hurry down the ladder but paused halfway.
Wait. No!
Raelyn ignored him for the first time since—ever.
She lunged back up, accidentally kicking her journal on the way, sending it soaring over the side and onto the barn floor with a splat.
Crap.
Raelyn ignored the journal catastrophe and pulled on the latch again. Nothing happened. Stepping back a few feet, she gritted her teeth and rammed into the door hard with her shoulder. Raelyn fell back, crashing to the floor.
“Ow!” She covered her mouth fast with both hands.
Glancing around for anything could help, Raelyn spotted Pa’s canoe paddle hanging close by on the wall. Her hands shook as she leaned off the side of the loft and pulled it up. Wedging the paddle between the door and frame, she pushed with all her might. Tightening her fists, she used all of her one hundred-ten pounds to shove.
Nothing happened.
“Raelyn?” Pa’s voice grew louder.
The door jerked open making her dart through the opening and tear through a spider’s silky web. His familiar boots stomped below. She hunkered down in the back corner of the small space, trying to quiet her panting. Pa stood directly below her and ran a hand through his thick wavy brown hair. He squatted down, picked up her journal, and laid it on a barrel.
Once his footsteps faded, she picked the sticky strands of the spider web off her sweaty forehead and looked around. Behind a pile of dusty crates stood a large trunk.
Raelyn walked over to the large chest and moved a painting of a desert slanted over the top. The worn wood of the trunk sported scratches and dings over each corner and was sealed with a rusty lock.
What’s in there?
While kneeling in front of the chest, her jeans brushed dirt away from a small nameplate. She bent down and rubbed harder, revealing a name, but not just any name:
Joanna Rae Bell.
She froze.
This is Ma’s?
“Raelyn?” Pa’s footsteps crunched over leaves just outside.
She grabbed her satchel in one swoop and hurried down the ladder. A sharp wooden piece sliced into her fingertip.
When she landed with a thump, Bear circled her heels. She crouched down and kissed his forehead. “Don’t you tell a soul.”
“There you are,” said her Pa, William Bell, as he scratched his gray peppered beard.
Trying to ease her rapid breathing, Raelyn asked, “Do you need something, Pa?” She picked out the sliver from her finger with one pluck.
“Well, I need your truck for work. I’m out of gas.”
She wiped sweat off her brow and reached inside her satchel. “Okay.” Her keys rattled against each other as she tossed them through the air.
His green eyes seemingly vacant. “Thanks. I’m going to bring some of this wood over to the Richardson’s on the way.” He set down the rolled newspaper in his calloused hand on the log pile. The date in bold on top read, September 23, coincidentally eleven years since Ma died.
Pa swung an ax down hard, splitting each log in half with one swift swoop.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Raelyn’s watched him, while her fingers grazed the nearby tire swing that her parents used to push her on—a reminder of a different time when family laughter rang like a constant melody. The swing blew in the breeze, long neglected. Its only remaining purpose was to hold on to the past. The last time she sat on that swing she was six years old.
Some days, her memories felt like a dagger—not a mild poke that would just cut the surface, but a deep slice that could pierce her entire soul.
She tightened the blue plaid shirt snug around her waist.
Did Ma also fidget when she was nervous?
Raelyn drew in a deep breath and asked before losing the nerve.
“Pa, do you have anything of Ma’s that I can have?”
“Well, no.” He wouldn’t meet her eye.
She hesitated, feeling like the red leaf fluttering down from the tree—completely at the mercy of the wind. “There’s nothing?”
He gathered the oak’s wood and turned away. “Come on. I loaded up the canoe. We’re going to the river soon.” His long strides added more distance between them with each step toward their farmhouse—the only home Raelyn had ever known.
Fine. I’ll figure out what’s in that chest by myself—tomorrow.