{"id":97,"date":"2009-07-28T16:15:34","date_gmt":"2009-07-28T20:15:34","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.emilygillespieclement.com\/?p=97"},"modified":"2009-08-28T18:50:55","modified_gmt":"2009-08-28T22:50:55","slug":"chapter-1-2","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/www.emilygillespieclement.com\/?p=97","title":{"rendered":"Chapter 1"},"content":{"rendered":"

\u201cSPLUT!\u201d<\/em> went an enormous glob of mud against the window of Mr. Hollerbuck\u2019s Industrial Arts classroom. Mabel Crockett winced at the sudden squeal of chairs scraping the floor as almost every child at Willibunk Middle School scrambled for a view out of a classroom window.<\/p>\n

\n\t\u201cSweeeeet!\u201d cried a boy next to Mabel, as the wind outside whipped by with extraordinary vigor, pelting the windows with sticks and more mud.<\/p>\n

\n\t\u201cOkay everyone, calm down!\u201d called Mr. Hollerbuck, in an attempt to restore order to his classroom.<\/p>\n

\n\t\u201cSPLOT!\u201d went an even larger mud glob.<\/p>\n

\n\t\u201cOh, nevermind,\u201d muttered Mr. Hollerbuck.<\/p>\n

\n\tIn the school office, the staff had no time to marvel at the strange turn in the weather. They were too busy fielding phone calls from parents who had not lived in West Logjam long enough to have seen such a phenomenon before.<\/p>\n

\n\t\u201cNo, Mrs. Hoolihan,\u201d said Assistant Principal McDuie into the telephone, to the seventy-fifth worried parent. \u201cThe buses will be perfectly safe, and school will let out at the usual time.\u201d<\/p>\n

\n\tAcross the Willibunk River, in East Logjam, folks took the weather in stride. They grabbed an extra sweater and went about their business, nodding at each other with the greeting, \u201cSeems the river\u2019s acting up again.\u201d<\/p>\n

\n\tThe Willibunk was not a large river. Barely fifty feet across, it normally meandered southward, between forested banks and occasional farms where, even if a thirsty cow lost her footing and fell in, she could always scramble back to shore without drifting more than a few feet.<\/p>\n

\n\tBut every rare once in a while the waters of the Willibunk forgot to flow gently from the north. Eddies appeared, disturbing the surface and growing into whirlpools which roiled the water into a murky, churning stew. Such tantrums were always accompanied by an unseasonably cold wind, gusting from the north, which caught the mud and sticks the river spit out, and heaved them, in this case as far as the windows at Willibunk Middle School. Along the river bank trees danced and flapped in the wind and, between gusts, rustled and whispered like ghostly voices.<\/p>\n

\n\tBut by the time Willibunk Middle rang its closing bell, the sun had returned, the trees and the wind had settled down, and the children on bus number twenty-one could see, as they crossed the bridge from West to East Logjam, that the river was politely gurgling along as if nothing unusual had happened.<\/p>\n

\n\tThe schoolbus slowed to a squeaky halt on River Street, across from O\u2019Boyle\u2019s Soda & Sweets, to discharge passengers. Holly Bumper, blonde and chubby, was followed by her equally blond and chubby younger brother Petey. Behind the Bumpers came Ricky Fairwether and Mabel Crockett.<\/p>\n

\n\t\u201cOkay everyone,\u201d said Holly Bumper importantly, as the bus\u2019s red lights flashed, \u201cwe cross now.\u201d But no sooner had Holly stepped beyond the nose of the bus, when a dark green van honked, then screeched to the left and around the school bus.
\n\tHolly squealed, and jumped unsteadily backward, knocking Petey into Mabel.<\/p>\n

\n\t\u201cPetey,\u201d said Mabel, giving him a helpful shove, \u201cyou\u2019re squashing me.\u201d<\/p>\n

\n\tThe flabbergasted bus driver checked that the children were safe, motioned them to cross, shook his head, and drove on.<\/p>\n

\n\tMabel was still dazed from having landed underneath Petey Bumper when a blur of leaves, dust, and white fur blew past her, speedily pursued by Milo O\u2019Boyle of O\u2019Boyle\u2019s Soda & Sweets.<\/p>\n

\n\t\u201cRiflin\u2019 through my storeroom! Knockin\u2019 over boxes, the cur!\u201d exclaimed the waddling, gray-haired man. \u201cOughter be a law against it!\u201d He paused, and gave his mop a final shake in the direction of a small white, wire-haired dog.<\/p>\n

\n\tThirteen year old Mabel looked reproachfully at the dog, which paused at the corner to look at her.
\n\t\u201cMaybe Sparkle\u2019s gotten a little too used to your cookie sandwiches,\u201d she said. \u201cShe\u2019s looking chubby.\u201d<\/p>\n

\n\tMr. O\u2019Boyle huffed, and waddled back into his shop.<\/p>\n

\n\t\u201cSparkle, you need to behave yourself,\u201d said Mabel. She shook her head at the dog and gave her backpack a hitch.<\/p>\n

\n\t\u201cCome see me later. I\u2019ll have something to show you,\u201d<\/em> said…somebody. At least Mabel thought she\u2019d heard it. She looked around the street. She was at her bus-stop, where she\u2019d just gotten off. There were people about, but no one seemed to be speaking to her. She glanced around again and shrugged.<\/p>\n

\n\tThe little white dog trotted south. Mabel half walked, half danced down the brick sidewalk until she came to a blue door in a plain brick wall bearing a cleanly-lettered white sign which said \u201cEurus Press.\u201d Opening the door, she entered a room which, despite the solid brick front wall, was suffused with daylight. Multiple insets of glass block in the remaining three walls illuminated a wide-plank oak floor, numerous work tables strewn with paper and graphics, and a huddle of thoroughly scuffed wooden desks, where Mabel often liked to do her homework surrounded by the hubbub of office noise.<\/p>\n

\n\tUpstairs were printing facilities, and offices for her parents\u2019 quarterly travel journal, \u201cA Different Drum.\u201d Mabel and her parents lived in a compact brick house behind the press office and across a gardened courtyard, but she usually found them in the office after school.<\/p>\n

\n\tMabel dropped her backpack on a table in the corner. Quick footsteps were descending a corner staircase, and Mabel turned to see her mother holding a freshly minted magazine up for display.<\/p>\n

\n\t\u201c\u2018A Different Drum,\u2019 issue forty-nine, hot off the press,\u201d said Clara Crockett with a big smile. \u201cI thought you might like to take a copy down to the co-op. The piece on Mona Lisa\u2019s came out really nicely.\u201d<\/p>\n

\n\tClara Crockett was tall and lean, with an olive complexion and auburn hair pulled into a chronically disheveled bun. Mabel, her fair skin peppered with freckles and her almost-black hair in a waist-length braid, bore no apparent resemblance to either her mother or her sandy-haired and ruddy father.<\/p>\n

\n\t\u201cYes, I would…\u201d said Mabel taking the magazine. She grinned at the cover photograph which featured a cluster of smiling, but decidedly odd-looking, individuals standing in front of a rosy-beige stucco building which looked like it had been plucked from an Italian villa district. <\/p>\n

\n\t\u201cI don\u2019t have too much homework, but I need to start a report on some kind of local history.\u201d<\/p>\n

\n\t\u201cWell,\u201d mused Mrs. Crockett, handing Mabel a tangerine, \u201cthere are certainly people you can talk to around Logjam.\u201d<\/p>\n

\n\t\u201cMom,\u201d said Mabel, \u201cI need to write something believable. Some of the kids, and teachers, think I make things up.\u201d<\/p>\n

\n\t\u201cMmm-hmm,\u201d answered her mother shrugging sympathetically. \u201cSome people suffer from a very limited reality, don\u2019t they?\u201d<\/p>\n

\n\t\u201cOoh, Mabelina!\u201d called a very short man, lumbering in from an adjacent storeroom with a teetering stack of paper.<\/p>\n

\n\tOnly the overall-clad legs of Paulo Remini were visible behind the mound of paper until he dropped it on a table with a satisfying thud. Now Mabel could see the sparse but frizzy black hair, tortoise-shell glasses, and tiny smile of the man who almost single-handedly kept the company\u2019s printing press operational.<\/p>\n

\n\t\u201cYou goin\u2019 to the co-op?\u201d he asked. \u201cTell them guys, more spicy stuff in the marinara, ok?\u201d<\/p>\n

\n\t\u201cOkay, Paulo,\u201d replied Mabel, smiling at the little man with the notoriously pipe-tobacco-dulled taste buds.<\/p>\n

\n\tMabel headed out the blue door and turned right onto River Street. East Logjam\u2019s only commercial thoroughfare, River Street was so called because it ran parallel to the Willibunk River. On both sides of the street a mismatched collection of stores and offices covered four blocks, connected by a brick sidewalk which was broken periodically by a small plot of flowers, a fruit tree ringed by a bench, or a small assembly of residents who had pulled creaking metal lawn chairs into a circle and were discussing the weather or the effects of tourists.<\/p>\n

\n\tToday was a typically bustling Fall afternoon. Across the street from Eurus Press was the Fairweather\u2019s house, which Mr. Fairweather was endlessly renovating, and which, at present, had a partial new tin roof. Mrs. Fairweather waved from her open-air kitchen where she was pulling muffins out of the oven, while the little Fairweathers swung from the joists above her head.<\/p>\n

Minny Filo, in her hair salon, was puffing up the coiffure of a skinny client. At Willibunk Savings and Loan, there was small line at the automated teller. An elderly couple squinted at a television in the window of Bumper\u2019s Stuff Shop. <\/p>\n

\n\tMabel skipped, and occasionally twirled, by the storefronts until she spotted, on the riverside, the building pictured on the cover of \u201cA Different Drum.\u201d<\/p>\n

\n\tAn imposing columned entrance faced the street, with a sign over the door saying \u201cMona Lisa\u2019s.\u201d A small glass case next to the doorway held a hand lettered menu. Mabel passed this entrance and ran around to the side of the building.<\/p>\n

\n\tOn a small porticoed terrace which housed several cafe tables, a large, gangly man paused from his sweeping to wave. Mabel waved back, and entered the building through a screened door.<\/p>\n

\n\tAn intriguing ensemble of scents filled the room which she had entered. It was a large, predominantly stainless steel, kitchen with an endless array of pans, utensils, and peculiar looking dried plants suspended from ceiling racks. <\/p>\n

\n\tThree cooks in aprons and mushroom-shaped hats stirred, sniffed, and made faces at bubbling pots from which wafted odors of basil, garlic, and something unidentifiably fruity. <\/p>\n

\n\tA woman looked up from a chopping block where she was dicing a fruit from what appeared to be a stack of bananas with wrinkly orange peels. <\/p>\n

\n\t\u201cI don\u2019t know what to call it yet,\u201d she said to Mabel, \u201cbut Porter Halfslip brought me this bunch from the botanical center. He says it\u2019s a banana crossed with a kumquat. Here, taste,\u201d said the woman, handing Mabel a chunk of the peach-colored flesh.<\/p>\n

\n\tIt was like a hundred bubbles gently bursting in Mabel\u2019s mouth, releasing the taste of bananas, peaches, and an unfamiliar, but deliciously sour, twist. <\/p>\n

\n\t\u201cIt\u2019s really…tropical,\u201d she said, smiling. \u201cThanks, Mrs. Peale.\u201d <\/p>\n

\n\t\u201cSure honey,\u201d said Mrs. Peale, continuing to chop. \u201cThis one\u2019s an especially nice surprise after Porter\u2019s last new fruit ended up tasting like burnt seaweed. I\u2019m going to work this into a rice pilaf.\u201d<\/p>\n

\n\tThe chopping block was set high, as were most of the kitchen fixtures, to accommodate Mrs. Peale and several other unusually tall cooks. Mrs. Peale was over six feet tall, with orange-red curls pulled severely into a bun. Her large hands and cleanly washed face revealed an impressive collection of old scars.<\/p>\n

\n\t\u201cVan\u2019s in the gallery,\u201d said Mrs. Peale. \u201cYou know how he likes to do his homework with Hippocrates.\u201d<\/p>\n

\n\t\u201cOh…\u201d began Mabel, suddenly remembering her errand. \u201cLook, the magazine\u2019s out, with you guys on the cover.\u201d<\/p>\n

\n\tMrs. Peale\u2019s scar-lined face broke into a grin. \u201cHey, can you show that to Mr. Peale? He\u2019s really excited about it, and I\u2019ll take a look when I\u2019m not up to my elbows in fruit.\u201d<\/p>\n

\n\tMabel walked through a dining room decorated floor to ceiling with paintings and sculptures. The tables were prepared for the evening\u2019s business with a hodgepodge of silverware and coffee cups, hand-batiked tablecloths, and napkins. Beyond the dining room, where she would have come in had she used the main entrance, was a gallery of art for sale. Interspersed with wooden rocking chairs were numerous works of art, representing a spectrum of styles from classic to modern. Plants spilled over the edges of urns and hanging baskets. Mabel fingered the shiny jade leaves of a healthy philodendron. <\/p>\n

\n\tFrom the south wing of the building came the strains of stringed instruments being tuned. The front door of the gallery burst open and in rushed a lanky brunette with voluminous hair. It was the woman Mabel had seen in Minnie Filo\u2019s salon. She was not so tall as the other people at Mona Lisa\u2019s, but her large hands, feet, and joints made her look as if she were constructed of giant Tinkertoys, and she carried a viola in a case. She smiled at Mabel and took off down the hall at a trot calling out, \u201cI\u2019m sorry folks, Minnie was running behind schedule today!\u201d<\/p>\n

\n\tVan Rijn Peale was just where his mother had guessed, sitting on the edge of a corner fountain on top of which stood, in thoughtful concentration, a marble likeness of the ancient Greek physician Hippocrates. Van was just closing his math textbook. His sandy hair was cut close to his head. An oversized tee-shirt covered his husky frame, and he sported wire-rim glasses. <\/p>\n

\n\t\u201cHey, Van,\u201d said Mabel. \u201cDo you ever drop your homework in the water?\u201d<\/p>\n

\n\tVan leaned toward her conspiratorially and whispered, \u201conly when I have to write poetry.\u201d<\/p>\n

\n\tMabel giggled. \u201cYou know, Van?\u201d she said. \u201cFor a guy who lives with all these artsy types, you\u2019re sure a geek.\u201d<\/p>\n

\n\t\u201cYup,\u201d he agreed.<\/p>\n

\n\t\u201cHey, where\u2019s your dad?\u201d asked Mabel. \u201cThe magazine is out.\u201d<\/p>\n

\n\t\u201cListen,\u201d replied Van.<\/p>\n

\n\tMabel listened. And she felt. Footsteps from unmistakably large feet were coming from a hallway opposite the dining room. Into the gallery strode, with surprising grace, the largest man in Logjam. Noah Peale stood seven feet tall. His prematurely gray hair was combed into a long ponytail at the nape of his neck. He was clad in fashionably baggy khaki pants, and a white buttondown shirt, and his visible skin was every bit a scarred as his wife\u2019s. He quickly spotted the magazine which VAn was now thumbing through, and broke into a grin of happy surprise.<\/p>\n

\n\t\u201cYesss,\u201d he said. \u201cRecognition!\u201d<\/p>\n

\n\tMabel grinned back. \u201cMom says it\u2019s good,\u201d she said as she handed Mr. Peale the magazine.<\/p>\n

\n\tMr. Peale flipped intently through the pages.
\n\t\u201c\u2018No trip through the Willibunk Basin is complete,\u2019\u201d he quoted rapturously, \u201c\u2018without a visit to Mona Lisa\u2019s and the Logjam Artists\u2019 Cooperative.\u2019 Can I keep a copy of this?\u201d Mr. Peale\u2019s voice was soft and mellifluous, often coming as a surprise to people who were initially alarmed at his appearance.<\/p>\n

\n\t\u201cWe have stacks,\u201d answered Mabel. \u201cYou can have it.\u201d<\/p>\n

\n\tMr. Peale carefully eased his tremendous frame into a rocker and continued reading, his expression blissful.<\/p>\n

\n\tAcross the dining room, the kitchen door swung open with a bang. A chef named Franz, whose pale blond curls resembled dandelion fluff, and whose scars were as apparent as any other co-op member, stuck his head out of the kitchen.<\/p>\n

\n\t\u201cVan and Mabel! Children, I need you!\u201d he called. \u201cOliver is too busy practicing with the quintet for dinner tonight and I need you to deliver a carryout order for me, please?\u201d He smiled beseechingly.<\/p>\n

\n\tMabel and Van looked at each other, and both nodded.<\/p>\n

\n\t\u201cWhat lovely, nice children,\u201d sighed Franz. \u201cIt\u2019s manicotti for two, and it goes to Dr. Rotter\u2019s. You know we like to treat the doctor right.\u201d He held out a white insulated delivery bag.<\/p>\n

\n\tMabel took the bag, and Van tucked his schoolbooks into a cabinet.<\/p>\n

\n\tThe children exited through the kitchen\u2019s rear door onto the riverfront. A brick promenade, running along the water at the rear of the building, was busy with after school lessons. Several co-opers, as they were called, were seated along the length of the walkway, each with a student artist or two. Mabel and Van zig-zagged to avoid the easels and, at the very end, a girl playing a flute under the tutelage of an ungainly but enthusiastic instructor dressed in an African dashiki robe.<\/p>\n

\n\tHeading north along the riverfront, they passed the untidy loading dock behind Shirtle\u2019s Dress Shop, then the Reminis\u2019 exquisite backyard vegetable and herb garden. A calico cat sat regally on a shipping crate behind Logjam Hardware and watched as the children ran one way, and the river the other. The last business on the block was a natural food store with green and yellow striped awnings. After that came a vacant lot, and then a small, weathered, shingled church. <\/p>\n

\n\tThe vacant lot was not completely empty. Surrounded by heathery, rarely mowed grass stood a stone chimney with a fireplace facing the road. Occasionally Mabel stopped to visit the old chimney, and tried to picture the house it had once belonged to. Sometimes she sat on the raised hearth and imagined it was her house, and she was in her own living room. But today she and Van had a job to do, and she started across the lot with no intention of stopping until she noticed that Van had slowed down and was staring at a green vehicle parked at the edge of the lot.<\/p>\n

\n\t\u201cVan!\u201d Mabel whispered sharply. \u201cThat\u2019s the van that nearly ran over Holly Bumper when we got off the bus!\u201d<\/p>\n

\n\t\u201cWhat do you guess he\u2019s doing?\u201d asked Van, pointing toward a man who appeared to be sifting through the grass next to the chimney. \u201cI\u2019m gonna ask.\u201d<\/p>\n

\n\tVan took off across the tall grass toward the stranger. Mabel hesitated, but couldn\u2019t think of a good reason not to follow him, so she did. <\/p>\n

\n\tThe stranger looked up as they approached. Mabel supposed he was in his forties, maybe a little younger than her father. He was slightly built, with small but sharp features and had chestnut hair, very short and very curly. His one raised eyebrow and questioning look caused Mabel to feel that perhaps he wouldn\u2019t welcome this intrusion, but Van did not appear to be discouraged, and the man smiled as Van greeted him.<\/p>\n

\n\tMabel noticed that there were several stakes in the ground, connected by a string which formed a rectangle bordering a house-sized area in front of the fireplace. <\/p>\n

\n\t\u201cIt\u2019s the boundary of the house that stood here,\u201d said the man to Mabel, in answer to the question she hadn\u2019t even asked. His expression as he looked at her, first one of surprise, changed to such inquisitive intensity that Mabel began to feel uncomfortable.<\/p>\n

\n\t\u201cAre you rebuilding it?\u201d asked Van.<\/p>\n

\n\t\u201cNo,\u201d the man answered, chuckling slightly. \u201cJust doing a little digging around…looking for information. You might call me an…oh, a historian.\u201d <\/p>\n

\n\tAs the man spoke, he continued to direct his gaze at Mabel who began to feel as if she were being examined. <\/p>\n

\n\tVan nodded, and seemed satisfied with the answer.<\/p>\n

\n\tMabel, feeling awkward under the stranger\u2019s steady focus, felt a need to fill the empty airspace. \u201cWhat are you trying to find out?\u201d she asked quickly.<\/p>\n

\n\t\u201cLet\u2019s just say I have a personal interest in the people who lived here,\u201d he answered with an peculiar smile which did not strike Mabel as a happy one. \u201cBy the way,\u201d he continued, \u201cI\u2019m Verdon Arbogast. Would you mind telling me your name?\u201d<\/p>\n

\n\tMabel was feeling a strong need to squirm out of the man\u2019s line of vision, and did not answer.<\/p>\n

\n\t\u201cYour name, young lady, who are you?\u201d he repeated.<\/p>\n

\n\tVan glanced back and forth between Mabel and Arbogast and wrinkled his nose.<\/p>\n

\n\t\u201cI\u2019m Ken and she\u2019s Barbie,\u201d said Van, \u201cand we\u2019ve gotta go. See ya.\u201d<\/p>\n

\n\tVerdon Arbogast smiled at Mabel as if he knew an unpleasant secret about her. She was beginning to feel as if she couldn\u2019t move at all when she felt Van grab her by the arm and pull. She turned quickly and retrieved the insulated bag, but the strong sense of being stared at from the rear made her suddenly develop a limp. Not until they were many yards down the sidewalk did she begin to relax.<\/p>\n

\n\t\u201cBoy,\u201d said Van with a grimace. \u201cThat guy was way weird. He acted like he knew you or something.\u201d<\/p>\n

\n\t\u201cYeah,\u201d replied Mabel, \u201cbut he doesn\u2019t. Come on, let\u2019s hurry up, before the manicotti gets cold!\u201d<\/p>\n

\n\tMabel began to run, with Van following, and she could hear, to her left, that the river was again having an unusual fit of spitting and splashing.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

\u201cSPLUT!\u201d went an enormous glob of mud against the window of Mr. Hollerbuck\u2019s Industrial Arts classroom. Mabel Crockett winced at the sudden squeal of chairs scraping the floor as almost every child at Willibunk Middle School scrambled for a view out of a classroom window. \u201cSweeeeet!\u201d cried a boy next to Mabel, as the wind […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":[],"categories":[8],"tags":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.emilygillespieclement.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/97"}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.emilygillespieclement.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.emilygillespieclement.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.emilygillespieclement.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.emilygillespieclement.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=97"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"http:\/\/www.emilygillespieclement.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/97\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":262,"href":"http:\/\/www.emilygillespieclement.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/97\/revisions\/262"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.emilygillespieclement.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=97"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.emilygillespieclement.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=97"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.emilygillespieclement.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=97"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}