Chapter One – The Oak Tree
Mysty brushed her fingers over the rough surface of the grey trunk of the old live oak tree, it’s gnarly branches and small leaves making a lace pattern against the deep blue sky. The air was sweet and sticky with the warm fragrance of meadows and purply flower carpets laying beyond the furthest reach of the hanging fingers of the oak branches. Mysty is at peace here, she has quietly slipped away after school and after school chores, which makes her repose here all the sweeter.
She reaches around the trunk and draws out a frayed brown booklet from a crevace in the bark of the great tree. She lovingly strokes the soft leather cover, knowing she has only one year left and the book will be full – finished. Then, they will take it from her. She is suppose to turn it in on her 18th birthday. She has other plans. Thinking of this, she smiles and brushes back a stray auburn curl that hung across her cheek and opens to today’s entry. Taking out a stubby pencil she always carries shoved inside her leather belt, she sharpens its’ point against the bark of the old oak.
She begins writing and glances frequently into the distance as she lets her thoughts replay the days events.
“I saw him today. I think he looked my way. He was smiling, but I don’t think he actually looked right at me. Miriam said she thinks he likes me. I wish we could choose our mates from our own island. I don’t see what the problem is. Sandy said today she’s not going to choose a mate at all. She said she wasn’t even going to go to the Choosing. I told her she had to go or they would choose for her but she didn’t let me finish and she just walked away. I think she is going to get in trouble. I was going to tell her that they wouldn’t give her a house if she didn’t have a mate. Note to self: Help Sandy not get in trouble. ….Found a super shell on the beach today. Added it to my collection. Tally: should now make over 500 for trade at the Big Barter. …. Note to self: must get new pencil.”
A rustle in the leaves caught Mysty’s attention. Pushing up against the tree, she peered around the trunk. She could see two boys about her age passing on the trail. She could only see their backs as they hurried on so couldn’t tell who they were. No one came here, not for a long time so she thought. The trail had been grown over and it was herself that had cleared back the branches. Now these boys were using her trail.
Creeping as quiet as she could, she followed their direction toward the shore. She could hear them now whispering, but couldn’t make out what they said. This part of the trail wasn’t familiar to her. She didn’t clear this portion, but it looked used. She thought the two boys probably cleared it. Their voices trailed away.
Suddenly she was at the edge of a high cliff overlooking the seashore. Grabbing a branch, she barely kept from falling over. Startled, she wondered where they had gone. Movement in the leaves beside the trail caught her attention. Bending over she brushed aside the leaves and saw a fat rope. They had gone over the side. Laying on her stomach she looked over the edge. The tan sandy cliff went straight down. The end of the rope dangled half way down. Where had they gone. She thought briefly of climbing down the rope. But, she’d never climbed on a rope, it might be stupid. She heard their voices, muffled, but getting louder. They must be coming back, she thought, and she got up and ran back down the trail to the oak tree. She picked up her diary she had left there, but didn’t see the pencil. No time to look as the fear of being discovered made her run back to the village, using the trail she was so familiar with.
It was getting late and the evening fog was starting to come in as she reached the cobbled stones. She knew that dinner was probably on the table and she was in trouble. She chided herself for being so silly as to be afraid of being found out by two mere boys. But, she wondered what they had been doing. Why they whispered. What was at the end of that rope. She decided then and there that she needed to know how to climb a rope. Reaching the back door to her family cottage she glanced back over her shoulder to make sure no one saw her, and slipped in quietly, placing her diary behind a wooden bucket by the door.
“Mysty is that you?” her mother sounded angry.
“Yeah, mum”. Mysty tried to sound cheerful.
“Your mother has been worried about you. Any later and you could get lost in the fog. Did you think of that? Are you thinking at all?” her dad always was always asking her if she was ‘thinking at all.’
Entering the dining room, the warm smell of garlic chicken filled Mysty with comfort. Sitting down, she noticed that her parents had begun eating their dinner already.
Her dad continued: “We’ve already had grace and started without you. Miriam came by. Seems you were supposed to study with her tonight? Where have you been? I told her I’d send you over when you got home, but it’s too late now with the fog and all. Belinda, do we have more potatoes, or is this it” her dad was distracted and seemed to have forgotten his question to Mysty.
“Yes Thomas dear, I have some still on the stove. You want some?”
“Of course, why would I ask if I didn’t want some more?” Mysty’s dad was still angry and Mysty knew it was her fault.
Mysty wished she could tell her parents about the mysterious boys and the rope, but then she would have to tell them why she was in the far woods. Tomorrow she would tell Miriam and get a new pencil. After eating, she did up the dishes and said she was going to study in her room. Before turning on her light, she went to the window. She wondered if those boys had been caught in the fog. She only saw fog. Thick and dark. No moon tonight to light the gray.