Hannah & the Spindle Whorl Read online

  “Hannah. Could you and Max save your conversations for recess, please?” Mrs. Elford smiles. Max and I roll our eyes and turn back to our math workbooks. When the bell finally goes for recess, Max sits with me near the monkey bars and tells me about the time, when he lived in the Chilcotin, that a bear came right onto his back porch and ate a forty-pound bag of dog food. I tell him about our homemade houseboat, and he doesn’t think it sounds crazy at all. He thinks it sounds seriously cool.

  I find out that Max and his family live at the other end of Cowichan Bay, in a house ten steps from the beach. His parents said that even though school was almost out for the summer, he had to start at Elliot anyway. They thought it would be easier to start grade seven in September if he knew some of the kids there first. When I ask him how come he wasn’t on the bus, he tells me how his dad gave him a ride on his motorcycle. Cool. We hang out all day and by three o’clock I feel like I’ve known Max since the beginning of the school year.

  “Want to come over tomorrow?” he asks.

  “Sure.”

  Later on, just before dinner, I sit out on the deck with Chuck and open my journal — the one Aunt Maddie gave me for Christmas. I’ve written in it every single day except a few days in February when I had the stomach flu. I love it. It has cream-coloured pages, a blue cover, and a pattern of shiny golden sun-faces all across the front of it.

  Thursday, June 11, 2010

  Dear Diary:

  There’s a new kid in our class. His name is Max. He seems kind of different, like he doesn’t really care what kind of clothes he has on, and he’s also really into animals and art. He actually seems pretty cool. Of course, I can tell already that Sabrina Webber doesn’t like him, but she doesn’t really like anybody … except Carl Norton. But I happen to know that Carl thinks she’s a total idiot. I bet the only reason she likes him is because he’s got a swimming pool at his house and a gigantic flat-screen TV in his own room. I sure don’t see what’s so great about him. He drools and always has gross sleep goobers stuck in his eyes. Plus he’s got the personality of linoleum, as Aunt Maddie would say.

  For supper, Dad brings out a tray of corned beef sandwiches made with Nell’s whole grain bread. Hot spicy mustard and sliced dill pickles are already on the table.

  “Well, Hannah Banana? What extraordinary thing happened to you today?” He’s wearing bright green shorts and a T-shirt that says “When it rains, we pour” — advertising a coffee shop (of course, what else?) in Vancouver.

  “A new kid started in our class today. His name’s Max,” I tell him, picking a sunflower seed out of my bread.

  “Oh? So what’s Max like?”

  “He’s kind of a slob, and his pants are too big.”

  “Ah. I see. A kindred spirit.”

  “DAD!”

  “Truth hurts, eh?”

  “Well, if I’m a slob, then I guess it’s genetic, right? Oh yeah, Max’s dad has a motorcycle. Can I go over to their place after school tomorrow? They live at the other end of the bay.”

  “Sure. I guess so. Just be home for supper, though. Aunt Maddie is coming over to cook.”

  Great! Aunt Maddie is my most favourite relative. She’s my dad’s sister and she’s what a lot of people would call “eccentric.” That means she isn’t afraid to sing old Beatles songs really loud in the grocery store, and she wears pink and orange at the same time, even though my grandmother thinks it’s a sin. Aunt Maddie likes to cook for us a lot; she thinks Dad doesn’t feed me properly and stuff.

  Later, when I crawl into bed, I pull my comforter up around my chin and listen for a while to the waves slapping against the houseboat. Then I take my journal out from under my pillow and continue where I left off this morning.

  Later … but still Thursday, June 11, 2010

  I almost forgot. I guess I was right when I woke up this

  morning. I knew something different was going to happen and it did. The whole Max thing. Oh … and Aunt Maddie’s coming over tomorrow to cook again. That means there’s sure to be tons of garlic involved! I’m glad she comes aroun a lot. I think it helps Dad because the last time she was over I heard him talking about Mom after I’d gone up to bed. He still misses her a lot even though he tries to hide it from me. But I think he’s getting better because he’s writing again. I mean, I miss her too, but I think it’s kinda better for me not to talk about it all the time. Mostly, I just keep busy and try not to think about her so much. It’s easier just to not go there.

  P.S. I totally caught Sabrina Webber picking her nose on the school bus today. It was so sweet!

  When I wake up the next day, Chuck is sitting on my head, anxiously waiting for his breakfast. He’s like that. You have to feed him immediately or he’ll dig his claws into your chin and start gnawing on your eyebrow. It’s very irritating and impossible to ignore, so I get up and stumble down the stairs to the kitchen. My father has fallen asleep on the couch, again, surrounded by a pile of papers, and Chuck has discovered the bowl of melted mint chocolate ice cream on the floor. I go over, pick up the cat before he makes himself sick, and drop him onto my dad’s chest. Chuck lands heavily and Dad wakes up.

  “Whoa! Did I oversleep? I don’t even remember going to bed. Oh, I guess I didn’t. Geez, I hate falling asleep in my clothes.”

  “I think it suits you,” I tell him, smiling. Dad’s thinning hair is rumpled and his cheek is a roadmap of creases. My guess is that he pulled an all-nighter. He does that quite a lot when he gets his teeth into a good story.

  I dump a smelly mess of canned chicken nuggets into Chuck’s bowl, but he bumps my hand at the last minute and the whole mess lands on the kitchen floor. He doesn’t care though; he just settles in to eat it straight off the linoleum.

  “Are you going to this Max fella’s house after school then?” Dad asks, reaching for the coffee beans in the freezer.

  “Yep.”

  “No motorcycling though, okay?”

  “Dad, I’m going to hang out with Max, not his dad.” For a cool parent, sometimes he worries as much as a few fussy moms I know.

  4

  A Beach Day

  SCHOOL’S PRETTY BORING, but I don’t mind too much because, well, it’s Friday. The bell finally goes at five to three and I stuff my homework into my backpack and hurry to meet Max by the lockers. We climb on the bus and manage to score seats near the back, which is cool, because on the way home they usually get snapped up first. We don’t say much during the ride; I stare at the forest which lines Cowichan Bay while Max draws a leopard gecko on the corner of his language arts binder. We finally get off just past Holly Ridge Bed and Breakfast. Max points out a house just past the corner store. It’s a big white one with black trim and a deck that stretches off the back and out over the beach grass. We go inside, put our backpacks on the kitchen table, and Max pours us grape juice. He grabs a huge handful of oatmeal cookies; they’re the really good kind — sort of undercooked and squishy in the middle. We sit out on the deck and eat about fifty cookies each before deciding to go and comb the beach for crabs and stuff, maybe make a fort out of some driftwood. That never gets old.

  I love living near the beach. Even in the wintertime when it’s raining, I still like to explore along the shore. The wind whips the trees back and forth and the ocean turns a slate-grey colour. But the best part is the fog. And the foghorn. It’s kind of a sad sound, but, still, it makes me feel safe. I guess because I’ve heard that sound my whole life. When I was little, my parents and I used to sit out on the deck of our houseboat under the lean-to, and wrap ourselves up in blankets and watch the storms pass by. We’d usually drink hot chocolate, and Chuck would hide right under the blankets and not come out until it was all over. He’s such a wuss. Sometimes there’d be an electrical storm, and we’d count the seconds between lightning cracks and booms of thunder to tell how far away the storm was. But most of the time in Cowichan Bay it’s just whitecaps and wind and power outages.

  Max and I make a really cool driftwood
hut and there’s enough wood left over to make a fenced area in front of it.

  “I could totally live in one of these,” he tells me, looking out to the ocean. There’s a tugboat working really hard just a little ways off shore, pushing around a big barge out in the bay.

  “What? You could? Even in the winter? Kind of cold, don’t you think?” I decide that Max is probably a dreamer like my dad.

  “Well, people used to live on the beaches like, a zillion years ago, in longhouses and lean-tos and stuff. With like, fire pits in the middle. I bet it was cool, eating smoked salmon and just chilling and stuff.”

  I think of the longhouse in the museum in Victoria, and remember the great smells of cedar and smoke. The chants that they play from some hidden speaker somewhere sound so real. Even though none of it is real, the forest at the museum is still my favourite part.

  “Yeah, I bet there was a village right here on this bay,” Max says. “They’d probably canoe over there to Kuper Island to trade stuff.”

  I look over the sea, trying to imagine what it would be like to see canoes there, paddling against the wind.

  “And I bet there was more than one Bigfoot around here back then, too,” he continues, his eyes kind of big and staring.

  “You mean Sasquatch? You can’t be serious,” I scoff, sitting up straighter on the log.

  “Oh yeah,” Max nods. “Dead serious. Why? You’re not a believer?”

  “Is anyone?”

  “Well, our neighbour in 100 Mile House said he saw one once when he was hunting moose.”

  “Get outta here.”

  “No. Seriously. He saw it take a package of hot dogs from his campsite, and he said its footprints were the size of trash can lids!” Max has told this story before. I can tell.

  “Know what else?” He goes on before I can say anything. “I found an arrowhead once.”

  “Really? Do you still have it?”

  “I had to give it to an archaeologist in Williams Lake even though I found it on Long Beach. It was a really big one, too.” Max holds up his hands about six inches apart.

  “It was kinda white, and sort of chalky.”

  All arrowheads I’d ever seen were shiny and black, made from that volcanic rock called obsiddy-something.

  “The museum guy told me it was a trade item that actually came from the middle of BC somewhere. He said it was important that I found it on Vancouver Island, because it meant that the people here traded stuff with inland tribes in the Okanagan or something. The museum sure was stoked about it.”

  I wish I could have seen it. I love collecting things. The best thing I have is an orca’s tooth. I found it on a beach on the mainland when I was seven.

  “Why don’t you do your report on that?” I ask him. We have to write our last report in social studies on something to do with British Columbia’s history. Anything we want. “You could do some really wild scientific drawings with tons of detail and stuff too!”

  “That could be pretty awesome. I’ll think about it,” Max tells me, checking his watch.

  I notice that it is getting kind of late.

  “Well, I guess I better get going,” I say. “I think I’ll follow the trail home from here. It only takes about twenty minutes. You know about the trail?”

  “Nope,” Max replies. “I haven’t really had a chance to explore yet.”

  “It’s great. It runs through the forest and comes out right across from the bakery at the other end of the bay. There are some really big trees in there.”

  We say goodbye, and I head off across the road and into the forest. The sunlight is filtering through the cedars, and the sword ferns on the ground are lush and thick. As I walk along, I decide that I really like Max. I like that he’s sort of quiet and listens when you say something, even if sometimes it might be something sort of dumb.

  A little Douglas squirrel darts across the path and runs up an alder tree, yelling at me the whole time.

  “Chill out! I’m not trying to catch you,” I tell him, but I hear him chattering long after I’ve gone.

  I love walking in the woods. I like the way the forest floor feels under my feet when I run along the trail. Kinda spongy. And when it’s dry, the moss smells warm and sort of sweet. Like hot berries. Summer is pretty much here, and I can smell things growing. It’s hard to describe it, but Aunt Maddie knows exactly what I mean because she’ll say, “Yep. It sure smells like green out there!” Right away it makes you think of reading your favourite book while sitting on a warm rock at the beach and pushing sand between your toes.

  I look up through the cedar boughs. Big puffy clouds are moving quickly across the tops of the trees. A wind is beginning to pick up and I remember that Aunt Maddie is cooking dinner. I start jogging briskly toward home.

  5

  The Spindle Whorl

  MY STOMACH STARTS to rumble partway home, and I remember that I have a half-eaten granola bar in the pocket of my hoodie. I finish it quickly, and as I’m fumbling to get the wrapper into the pocket of my jeans, I’m thinking of dinner, and not really paying attention to where I’m putting my feet. I stumble over a twisted root and fly off the footpath, landing face down in the shrubs.

  “Well, Hannah, that’s what you get for thinking about spaghetti and garlic bread,” I chuckle out loud to myself. Sprawled on the ground and feeling stupid, I squint my eyes and see that there’s a big flat rock hidden beyond the bushes where I landed. I get up, brush off my knees and wriggle through the bushes, only to find a steep, ivy-covered embankment about fifteen feet high — definitely not visible from the trail. You can barely see the rock, it’s so smothered by ivy; except, when I look a little more closely and walk to one end, I see a partially hidden opening close to the ground. It looks like the entrance to a cave. I can’t believe it! The whole cave and the entire rock face are completely hidden from the trail. Unless you were to fall exactly where I did and shimmy under that same tangle of salal bushes, you’d totally miss it. I wish Max were here in case I get stuck or something, because I can’t resist checking it out. I take a deep breath, get down on my hands and knees, and look up toward the sky as I suck in my belly. And there, up on the top of the rock face, staring back at me, is the biggest blackest raven I’ve ever seen! He’s just standing there, checking me out with his beady black eyes.

  “Uh … hi!” I say to him, because it almost looks like he’s expecting me to start some kind of conversation. He actually answers me back. Well, sort of. He lets out a croaky squawk and then ruffles his wings, craning his head forward to watch me as I belly crawl through the opening. All I can feel is dirt and rocks and moss. I know right away that I’m going to have to come back with a flashlight, and Max. I’m not a fan of the dark, but I keep going anyway. There’s a sliver of dim light coming from the opening I just squeezed through, and it smells like moss and mushrooms, or somebody’s mouldy basement. I belly crawl another ten feet or so into the darkness, but then it gets so inky and still that I think better about going any further. This is freaking me out. I really hate the dark. I’m such a chicken that I won’t even go on the deck of our houseboat after the sun disappears. For some dumb reason, I always think I’ll either fall overboard or something, or someone might snatch me into the air. But this time, I will myself to suck it up because, despite my fear, this is wickedly cool!

  And then my hand touches something behind a rock. Something smooth and sort of flat except there are ridges on it too. At first I think it’s some kind of a shell, but then I realize that it’s too big, not to mention too round! I spend a couple of minutes running my hand over the surface of the object. This is something I have to see clearly! I grab hold of it with both hands and begin to ease my body backwards and out through the cave opening. It’s hard to crawl when you can’t use your hands. A rock digs into the side of my hip and I wince, but I keep going. Once I’m all the way out, and my eyes adjust to the daylight, I pick up the strange round object and turn it over in my hands.

  What is this?
It’s some sort of wooden disc. Again, I trace my fingers across the surface. It’s pretty big — about the size of a dinner plate, and it has a perfect hole the size of a nickel right in the centre. But it’s the designs on the surface of the disc that really amaze me. Fish. Two big fish, their arched bodies carved around the hole. It almost looks like the one fish is following the other one. The whole disc is heavy and smooth and I can tell that it’s old. I study it closely. The wood grain is still noticeable, and the whole thing is a dark brown, kind of shiny in places, like the legs on our old antique coffee table at home. Something tells me this is really special. I feel stoked to have found it even though I don’t know what it is. I think of all the times I’ve walked up and down this trail completely unaware that a cave lay hidden just ten feet off the path …

  How long has it been here? How many other people have walked by without noticing it? I have my granola bar to thank for this. If I hadn’t been thinking about food and supper, I would never have tripped and seen the opening myself. What is this thing I found? I wrap the object carefully in my gym T-shirt and put it in my backpack between my math workbook and my beat-up running shoes.

  I can’t wait to show it to Dad and Aunt Maddie. But I’m kind of creeped out too. Max and I had just been talking about artifacts and arrowheads and stuff, and then I go and find this! And strangely, the big raven is still hanging around. Only now he isn’t looking down at me from his perch. Now he’s on the ground looking up at me. He hops energetically from one foot to the other, and then struts closer. Right in front of me! When he hops onto my backpack, I step back quickly. What kind of a birdbrain is this?

  “Hey!” I say, “Get off of that! What’s with you anyway?”

  Again, he squawks at me, ruffles his wings, and then flaps up to settle in the big cedar just off the trail.