Climbing over the gate at the end of their lane, Corvan spied his dad’s rusty pickup slouched on its broken springs in front of the house. His heart dropped. Now his parents would want to know why he was late.

  There was nothing worse than getting in trouble at school and then again at home when his mom found out. If she grounded him, he wouldn’t get a chance to meet Kate at the Rock and ask her to help him search for the lizard that night. It would be best to sneak around to the back porch, climb the maple tree to his room, and pretend he had been napping.

  As he veered to the left side of the house, the front screen door squeaked open, and his mother stepped out. Here was living proof that opposites attract: unlike his father, she was tall, and her skin remained pale no matter how much time she spent outdoors.

  “About time you got home,” she said wearily. “You can help me carry the cider jars back to the pantry. I only sold three and traded a few more for some baking supplies.” She dropped the tailgate and slung a half empty crate of jars at him with an ease that denied its weight. Grasping the handles of the wooden box, Corvan barely managed to stumble his way through the front door. If he had his mother’s strength, he could knock Billy Fry clean across the school yard.

  Entering the kitchen, he found his father at the sink staring out to the field, a pair of sunglasses sticking out from his hand. His deeply lined eyes scanned the horizon; an even more pronounced furrow creased his brow.

  As the crate scraped onto the table, Corvan’s father jammed his sunglasses on his head, then stalked out the back door without saying a word.

  Corvan desperately wanted to stop him and ask what was going on, but he knew it was no use. His father had become increasingly reclusive the past year. He missed his job at the mine and detested farming. The summer heat sapped his energy even though he covered up, wore a wide brimmed hat, and kept his darkest sunglasses on whenever he was outside.

  Corvan gazed helplessly at the hunched figure walking across the yard. He missed happier days when his dad would come home from the mine and play games with him after supper. Since the mine closed, his dad spent most of his days and nights down in the cellar, pounding away on his metalwork projects. He was glad his father wasn’t as angry all the time like Billy Fry’s dad, but withdrawing to the cellar didn’t seem like a great way to deal with problems either.

  Corvan’s mother entered and slid two full crates onto the kitchen table. She stared at her husband as he disappeared around the rock, then shook her head. “I’ve no time to make supper tonight,” she said quietly to Corvan. “Grab yourself some jerky and a piece of bread. I’ll dig you some carrots before I start weeding the garden.”

  Unlike his father, his mother’s response to problems was to spend even more time in her garden, but Corvan didn’t mind. Since she never ate meat, her gardening was vital to her. He also enjoyed the fruit of her seasonal labors, and her obsession with gardening usually meant he would be left alone to pursue his own interests.

  He didn’t bother slicing the bread and stuffed three long strips of dried meat from the stoneware crock into his pocket. Slipping onto the screened back porch, he found his mother already on her knees out in the garden, the dilapidated scarecrow watching silently over her. A bunch of carrots lay next to the water pump. Picking them up, he began working the long iron handle.

  The pump squeaked as he washed the dirt off the carrots. His mother stretched her back, then went back to weeding. The water ebbed to a trickle, and he turned toward the outhouse, hoping she wouldn’t ask him to help her weed. He hated that chore, and right now he needed to get out to the rock to meet Kate. Creeping from the yard, he headed out to the Castle Rock.

  It was a steeper climb up the southeast side of the rock out behind the outhouse, but Corvan knew every small foothold like it was the stairs to his bedroom. Reaching the top, he stepped into the widest gap between two stone crenelations and leaned back against one of the boulders, like a king surveying his domain.

  Their home was one of two farms that lay outside the streets of their small town. Corvan’s home was directly north of town at the end of a long, tree-lined lane. His father liked being separated from the town and always kept his gate closed and latched. The other, much larger farm on the northeast side of town belonged to Mr. Fry.

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  Their yard and garden were bounded by twin rows of trees, a line of tall aspens and a shorter screen of spruce. In the center of this living wall of green was their home—the Guard Tower, as his grandfather had named it. It was a fitting name, for the house was a tall square structure, with a pointed roof over the second story. It was also the only home in town made of large stone blocks. It had been built long before the surrounding area was settled. A history professor from the city college once asked to see inside, but his dad wouldn’t let him past the front gate.

  The rest of the homes were clustered along three gravel roads running parallel to the railway tracks. All in all, their dusty town had one grain elevator, one corner gas station, two vacant lots, and 76 houses of various sizes. The total population was 257 residents, most of whom worked in the city of Fenwood, fifteen miles past the railway crossing, or in the river valley at the coal mine.

  Crunching the last bite of carrot, Corvan tossed the green top over the side of the hill. He should be helping his mother in the garden instead of imagining himself as the king of the world, but Kate was coming. He eased his guilty feelings by walking around to the north side of the ring of rocks and looking over the fields.

  His father, now a stick figure in the distance, disappeared into the tangle of brush-filled coulees that marked the edge of their property. Beyond that boundary, the land dropped off steeply to the river and the caves that laced the sides of the deep valley. His father loved to explore the caverns and could be underground for days at a time.

  Corvan turned away and stepped into the depression in the middle of the ring of rocks crowning the hill. The large rock that used to be in the gap facing his house, was now in the very center of the circle. At some point in the distant past, it had been broken off and relocated.

  On the eastern side of the Castle Rock, he and Kate had built a fort from old lumber pillaged from around town. It wasn’t much to look at, but it provided a bit of shade and protection from the prevailing winds. From there they had explored the surrounding area all the way out to the largest caves at the river’s edge.

  The area just in front of the fort was normally a muddy pond. Rainwater would gather before it would overflow into a channel cut into the western slope and rush into the field. The past summer, however, had been far too hot and dry. The pond water had long since evaporated leaving salt-crusted shards of mud behind.

  Corvan continued past the central boulder to the western side. The slope was gentler here, and the dry water channel was a comfortable resting spot. From this vantage point, he would have a clear view of Kate coming from her house.

  A smile spread across his face. It had been a relief to find out it wasn’t Kate’s idea to stop hanging out with him. Billy’s father was a mean-tempered man known for pushing people around to get his way. Most likely, he was embarrassed that his son had been put in his place by a younger girl.

  As the sun sank toward the horizon, Corvan’s hopes faltered. Kate usually followed through on her plans, but at times Kate’s mother returned from work in a bad mood and would refuse to let Kate come over after supper. After the way she left the school after a week of not seeing her this would be the worst time for her to be grounded.

  The cradle of rock beneath him radiated its stored heat into his body. Laying back, he closed his eyes to block out the setting sun.

  The bell on the back porch startled him and he sat up to find the last sliver of sunlight hiding behind a thin band of cloud on the horizon.

  Walking down the channel, he stopped in at the outhouse before going into the kitchen. His mother was drying the dishes and stacking them on the cupboard. A bowl with a few small strawberries was waiting for him on the table.

  “There’s not many left, and they likely aren’t the sweetest, but I thought you might enjoy them.” She stepped off to one side of the sink. “You need to wash your hands first. I saw you come out of the outhouse.”

  Corvan stepped beside her, dipped his hands in the warm water, and looked out the window past the Castle Rock.

  “Is dad coming back tonight?” He dropped his head. His mother had enough worries.

  She looked down at him. “Your father needs some time to think things through, but don’t let all this worry you.” She put a hand on his shoulder. “We’ve been through tough times before, and we’ll make it through this one too.”

  Corvan wiped his hands on the towel that hung next to the sink, sat at the table, and finished off the berries.

  His mother picked up his empty bowl and pushed it into the soapy water. “It’s been a long day, and I’ll be going to bed soon. You should do the same and get some rest.” She smiled at him over her shoulder, but the lines about her eyes remained sad and drawn. “Hopefully you have better dreams and don’t wake me up in the night.”

  He gave her a quick hug. “Goodnight, Mom.”

  As he climbed the stairs, he muttered to himself, “I sure won’t have a good night if that stupid nightmare comes back.”