The Splendour Falls (36 page)

‘No problem.' Shawn stuck his hands in his pockets and shrugged. ‘I was running out to the Point before the graduation ceremony this afternoon.'

With all the other drama, I'd forgotten it was graduation weekend. ‘I should say congratulations.'

‘Thanks.' He smiled, as if my sentiments had been much warmer than they were. ‘Party tonight, by the way. If you want to come.'

‘I wouldn't want to crash it.'

‘Oh, everyone in school will be there.' He looked at

Clara. ‘Addie's coming, right?'

She sat down at the table with her mug of tea. ‘I doubt I could keep her away.'

I knew I should go and learn more about Shawn and the TTC. Be sly and ask questions. But the thought of being on my guard all night, watching what I said and how it was taken, dealing with their expectations, seemed huge to me. It had nothing to do with Rhys's eyes on me, or his inscrutable disapproval. Nothing at all.

‘We'll see,' I finally said, using one of Paula's favourite phrases.

Shawn obviously knew my cousin well enough to interpret, and he chuckled, not sounding put off. ‘I guess I'll just have to content myself with tomorrow, then.'

I searched my mental calendar and came up blank. ‘What's tomorrow?'

‘The Catfish Festival.' The ‘of course' was implied by his tone.

I stifled a groan. I felt the same way about the festival as I did about the graduation party, multiplied by the population of the town. If I'd planned ahead, I might have had an excuse. But with Paula smiling encouragingly and Clara grinning – and Rhys just
watching
– all I could think of to say was ‘Can't wait,' in a tone that implied anything but anticipation, letting them assume my reluctance was a joke.

‘Great.' Shawn grinned, buying it easily. Because we
Yankees
are so droll, I guess. Reaching for the bag I held, he asked, ‘Now, where can I put these for you?'

‘Oh, I'll take them.'

I gripped the handles, but had to relinquish them or get into a tug-of-war. ‘Just show me where,' he insisted amiably.

My irritation must have shown, and at Paula's disapproving look, I lightened my tone. ‘By the door would be great. Thanks.'

He carried them to the porch and I followed, to be polite, though it didn't seem very sporting of him to give a girl a gift and remind her of a date right in front of his rival. Provided that Shawn even admitted he had a rival for my attentions. It was clear by now that he took a lot for granted.

‘So, what time tomorrow?' he asked.

‘Paula declared we're going to church, so after that.'

He smiled, completely at ease. No, definitely not admitting any competition from anyone. ‘I'll see you there.'

When he was gone, I collected Gigi from her crate and went into the kitchen, disappointed to see both Griffiths had left. Clara and Paula were still there, conferring over the remains of breakfast.

‘Where'd they go?' I asked.

Paula didn't look up from the list she was writing. ‘The professor went upstairs to answer some e-mail, and Rhys said he was going to Old Cahawba.'

Clara gave me an amused look. ‘Are you starting a boy harem, Sylvie? You city girls.' She shook her head with a tutting noise.

‘I'm not … Oh my God.' I ran my hands over my face. As if my psyche weren't boiling over with
complications without adding romance to the pot. ‘I'm just …
not.
'

‘You shouldn't let that stop you from going to the party tonight,' said Paula. ‘It'll be fun for you to get out.'

‘Don't push her if she doesn't want to go.' Clara must have picked up on my reluctance. ‘The kids will probably all end up here or at the summerhouse anyway.'

The mention of the summerhouse prodded me to voice the question I'd been turning over since I'd explored the place. ‘Does the teen council always meet out there? Isn't that kind of an odd spot?'

Clara obviously didn't think so, from her shrug. ‘It gives them some privacy.'

My brows drew together in confusion. This was counter to her tone with Addie yesterday. Not that I could say that, since I'd been eavesdropping when I heard it. ‘Aren't you worried they could be drinking or smoking pot or something?'

Clara laughed and rose from the table. ‘Not these kids. They've got too much going for them.'

With a blithe lack of concern, she carried her glass to the sink. I stared in disbelief.
Surely
she checked up on them. Was there a parent on the planet who really believed that even a good kid wouldn't get a bad idea? Even
my
mother lectured me about drugs and premarital sex, and she knew I wouldn't do anything to risk my dancing career. It was like the entire TTC was under the umbrella of Shawn Maddox's get-out-of-jail-free grin.

That was why I had to keep my guard up around him, to keep fighting his charm. Maybe he and the TTC were as Mayberry and squeaky clean as they seemed, painting fences and saving puppies and helping old ladies across the street. But something made me think not. And I'd vowed to trust my instincts, no matter how strange things seemed.

R
egardless of my confusion and suspicion about Shawn, I was grateful for his gift, because with a decent pair of clippers, I could finally uncover the standing stone. I was anxious to attack the tenacious foliage around it and get a good look at the mystery rock.

It was slow going. Years of growth meant thick layers of tough green vine, interwoven and clinging like a net. I clipped and pulled and clipped some more, until my arms ached and I fully believed the stuff was growing as fast as I cut it.

By the time Professor Griffith visited me, I was glad for the distraction. As usual, he greeted Gigi first, bending to scratch her belly as she rolled in the tangled bed of herbs, soaking her fur and releasing the fresh, green perfume.

‘Good grief, Gigi,' I said. ‘Do you have no morals at all?'

Professor Griffith smiled at me over his shoulder, in his open, friendly way. His easy manner made him a good balance for his more complicated son.

‘We were just enjoying the morning.' He stood and nodded to the tall rock, which, as its name implied, looked blue-grey under a light coat of dew. At least, the sliver I'd uncovered did. ‘Rhys said you were clearing the stone, but he didn't mention you'd done such an amazing amount of work on the planting bed, too.'

I shrugged, embarrassed at the compliment. ‘Thank you.'

He gazed around, squinting in the sun. ‘I thought this whole garden was done for. Such a shame. But look.' He gestured to the bed where Gigi lay, and to the few buds of colour beginning to show. ‘These are already doing better now that they're not choked with weeds. I believe that you have a green thumb, my dear.'

‘I get it from my father.' My reply was simple, but I felt a happy glow inside at the thought. ‘They said he could grow anything.'

Snipping another tangle of vine, I uncovered more of the rock. Flecks of mineral – quartz, I guess – glittered in the dark stone. I ran my finger down its
rough surface. ‘This is really the same kind of stone as at Stonehenge?'

‘According to Rhys.' He said it with a bit of pride in his son, the geologist. ‘This type of dolerite is the same as the world's most famous standing stones. Is it warm?'

I glanced over my shoulder, wondering which of us was supposed to be the crazy one. ‘Warm? It's a rock, and the sun hasn't been up long enough to dry the dew.'

The professor laughed. ‘Bluestone is supposed to be warm to the touch. At least, relative to other stones. Something about it having electromagnetic properties or some such thing. Rhys would hate my even mentioning it. It's not
scientific.
'

‘But you study folklore, right? Why would he get bent at your mentioning it?' I asked.

‘He's very serious about geology. He hates it when the New Agey folks start spouting “pseudoscience” about his precious rocks.' Professor Griffith looked heavenward with a fond sort of exasperation. ‘Don't even get him wound up about crystals.'

‘I'll avoid the subject,' I said, so seriously that the professor laughed again.

I bent to pick up Gigi, who had curled at the base of the stone, completely relaxed. She flopped over bonelessly to lie on her back in my arms, like a baby. ‘The electromagnetism works on my dog, anyway. She loves to hang out here.'

He steadied me with a hand on my elbow as I stepped out of the planting bed. ‘Well, if you'll forgive
a little more pseudoscience, there might be a reason for that.'

‘I won't tell Rhys.'

‘Oh, he knows this one, too. Standing stones are thought to mark places that have certain properties. The mystics say it's earth energy. The pseudoscientists call it a magnetic field. You may have heard of ley lines?'

I shook my head, and he went on, clearly happy to have a fresh ear for his lecture. ‘Some people think there is a grid or web that connects centres of earth energy. Usually there are springs or wells along the points, as well as ancient sites, like barrows and standing stones. Also, churches and other, more modern sacred spots too.'

The mention of churches struck me, because I'd just been talking about that the day before, with Reverend Watkins.

‘So, this energy … Is it like feng shui? Supposedly, I mean.' I tacked that last part on to make sure he knew I was asking a hypothetical question. Open-minded but critical.

‘Not really. That's an Eastern practice of manipulating the energy flow – more of an air element in concept.'

He'd taken a seat on the bench, which was everyone's favourite spot. I sat on the ground, slipped off my shoes and wiggled my toes into the grass.

‘My dad used to talk about how the geography of a place could have good energy flow or bad. When we travelled together, he pointed out how both ancient temples and cathedrals are often built near springs.'

‘Right. Some people would say it's because springs and wells are sites where these energy lines connect.'

The idea excited me somehow, maybe because it dovetailed with Dad's opinions. But I made myself play devil's advocate and present the pragmatic argument. ‘Though if you're going to build a place where people congregate, it makes sense to have a water source.'

Professor Griffith laughed. ‘Yes, but practical reasons don't necessarily rule out intangible ones.'

I grinned and ducked my head, forming my next question carefully. ‘Listen, Professor. I wanted to ask you about something you said the other morning. Purely hypothetical.'

He smiled as if he understood, though somehow I doubted he really did. ‘All right. Hypothetical.'

‘You said something about cold spots?'

He nodded. ‘Temperature changes are something that paranormal investigators – ghost hunters – try and quantify. Temperature, humidity, even the electromagnetic charge in a room.'

I jumped on that idea, like Gigi jumped on her favourite squeaky toy. ‘Electromagnetism? Like my standing-stone spot?'

The professor grimaced ruefully. ‘Yes, in theory, but that's pseudoscience, remember. It's conjecture at best. Don't get me in trouble with Rhys.'

I ran my hand through my plants. Professor Griffith was right: they were already thriving now that the weeds weren't choking them and taking all their water.

‘So Rhys doesn't believe in any of this stuff? The special stone, the connection to Wales, any of it?'

‘Oh, he believes what can be proven. Like if your stone really comes from the Preseli Hills.'

I turned my head to look at the small section of rock I'd uncovered. ‘What would it mean if it does?'

He chuckled. ‘In a practical sense? Or an existential one?'

‘I don't know.' I shot him a shrewd glance. ‘And I'm betting you don't either.'

His amusement broadened. ‘ “Meaning” is an ambiguous word. It would mean that we're all connected. But it would also mean nothing significant, since we don't know when it was placed here or with what intent.'

While I digested that, the professor stood, dusting off his hands. Glancing at all the work I still had ahead of me, he said, ‘I do wonder if whoever created this garden knew the stone's alleged connection with ley lines and stone circles.'

I startled at his words. My father had made the connection, at least to the stone circle; he'd written it right in the book for me to find. But other than the obvious – the standing stone, its mysterious possible origin – I didn't see the link. ‘Why do you say that, Professor?'

‘Some of these plants. Meadowsweet, vervain, mint.' He pinched off a leaf and rubbed it to release the scent. ‘Rue and sage. All you need is some mistletoe and holly, and you have a druid arsenal.'

With a click into focus, I saw what he was getting at. ‘So druid types would use these in their ceremonies?' I asked, still not certain where this fitted in the puzzle of Bluestone Hill.

‘Yes, seems so. For healing, power and protection.' Then he smiled, because of course this was all hypothetical. ‘Don't tell Rhys I said that, either. All that New Agey stuff, you know.'

‘Sure thing, Professor.' I spoke the words absently, my mind busy pulling apart this idea to try to get at the meaning in the middle. Hang around with artistic people long enough, and you'll run across every kind of belief. I knew plenty of crystal-wearing, incenseburning types. I might have felt stupid for not seeing it before, except that to me this was just aesthetically pleasing greenery.

He wandered off, whistling, while I sat in the middle of my herbs, trying to figure out what was ringing the bell of my memory. When Gigi stirred in my lap, growling softly in her sleep, I had it.

Sliding the dog to the ground, I got up just enough to reach my jacket, which I'd thrown over the back of the bench when the day had warmed up. Digging in the pocket, I wrapped my fingers around the singed bundle of plants that Gigi had found in the summerhouse.