STONES

It was one of Nicolle's turns outside of the Peterson’s cabin that hid their first safehouse, an expanded horizontal mine tunnel one of Sandra's predecessors had labored to create. That long-ago miner hoped to extract treasure from it but now it concealed living treasures. Quartz intrusions ran through this side of the mountain, cropping out of the less resistant, decaying parent rock in broken white slabs. It was these veins that attracted an earlier Peterson to seek precious metals in the quartz and the sometimes-valuable crystals that formed in rare vugs beneath the veins.

In a small roundish clearing surrounded by extremely old trees, the kind with trunks so thick you can’t reach around them and clasp hands, she was carefully stacking chunks of white quartz rock. The little pile was beginning to take shape as she experimented with how to select one to fit into the others and learned the patience to set one aside for later if it resisted a fit right away. She'd gathered the whitest she could find for her work. She didn't notice Mr. Statler had come to the clearing and was watching. Upon hearing that there were going to be no men staying at the cabin hideaway, Walter insisted on going. And Marilyn then decided she ought to be there, as well.

"Hi, Nicolle, what're you making?"

Nicolle looked behind her to where he stood. "Oh, hello Walter. What's this? I think Edwin said the right word for it is a cairn. It's a sort of memorial or monument."

"What's it to commemorate?"

She turned back to look at the rocks. "A lost sister I never met."

"Oh." He stood quietly for a moment, then went around and seated himself with the little pile between them. "I remember hearing there was supposed to be one more. May I ask... what happened?"

Nicolle stared into the little stack of quartz and answered slowly, "Her owners said she died. But I know what they did. They killed her. Because they thought she was wrong."

"I'm sorry, Nicolle, I shouldn't have asked that... to rake up bad memories."

"No, it's... it's fine. This is for her memory. This is the right place to remember. To talk about her. I don't know much to tell about her, but if you'll listen, I think it would be good to speak of her here, now." So, she told him in a shaky voice about the day they'd tried to make the first contact with an owner. When she finished, Walter's face was ashen, and Nicolle's was streaked with tears.

"We don't even know her name, to tell it in her memory. But I will not ever speak the name of those creatures who had her."

"You know… I've only seen a catgirl cry once before. Sharona cried when I found her trying to read a book and... I stopped her. I told her she couldn't do that. But she cried. And... so I taught her to read, myself."

"You have a good heart, Walter."

"Perhaps so, but I made some poor decisions. And now that I've met you and your sisters, I see how Sharona suffered for it.” He paused a moment and then said suddenly, “I have to go."

"It's fine, you can stay."

"No, I mean I have to go talk to Sharona. To tell her I'm sorry. I haven't done that. I need to. But... can I ask a favor?"

"Of course."

"Would you mind if I help build your cairn? Bring some stone, add to it?"

"I'd be pleased, and I think she would be, too. Yes."

It was one of Nicolle's turns outside of the cabin. She returned to her clearing and her cairn. It was five feet high. The soft places around it showed footprints, human and catgirl. Another, smaller pile of pure white, some of it streaked with glittering mica, awaited fitting. Nicolle began to weep again. Though it was not for sadness, still she was relieved that Walter didn't see.

Next: Part 13 / 25, “Journaling”