Seeds of Time (2 page)

In spite of the warm day, Darrell shivered as the wind murmured through the leaves. The sound of the waves on the shore resonated, though she stood more than a hundred metres away. Her mother stepped out of the car and, seemingly oblivious to the strange quiet, walked purposefully into the building. The grey, weathered door closed smoothly behind her, and Darrell stood alone.

She started to follow her mother inside but paused to have a look at her surroundings. The grounds of the school were long and narrow, clinging to the small
flat area between the shore and the mountains that rose behind.

The buildings themselves seemed very old and were mostly of cedar, weathered silver and grey. The main building loomed in front of her. It was chiefly constructed of old, grey logs, chinked together tightly against the weather. Several annexes of different shapes and building materials had been added to the original structure over the years. Darrell knew from reading the registration pamphlet that the building itself had originally been a hunting lodge and had transformed through various incarnations into a tourist hostel, a church seminary, and even a hospital for a time. Of all the additions, the most interesting and strange were two round stone towers, one at each end of the school. The towers were a product of the building's era as a hospital during the First World War, and they gave quiet strength to the structure as it stood guard, overlooking the waters of the fjord.

Darrell jumped as a large raven cawed loudly. It fluttered down to sit near her on a tree branch, looking her over boldly with a bright, black eye. She looked back with some curiosity. She had never seen a raven of this tremendous size before. Darrell knew that mountain ravens were much bigger than the city crows she was used to, but this one must be the king of them all. She stared back at the raven until he spread his massive
wings and, with two great thrusts, was gone, following the wind up into the mountains.

A movement at the corner of her eye interrupted her meditation, and she turned to see the front door opening. Darrell realized she had been holding her breath.

Her mother emerged with a tall, trimly dressed man who looked surprisingly like a painting Darrell had seen of Leonardo da Vinci as a young man: neatly clipped brown beard, balding head, clever eyes. The resemblance was remarkable.

Darrell smoothed her sweater and nervously tucked her windblown hair back into her ponytail.

The man stepped forward and, smiling warmly, proffered his hand.

“You must be Darrell,” he said. “I'm Arthur Gill. Your mother has signed your registration papers.”

“More like commitment papers,” Darrell muttered, her lip curling.

Mr. Gill acted as though he had not heard Darrell's remark and continued. “I am the artist in residence at Eagle Glen this summer.” He looked keenly at Darrell. “I have examined some of your work, and I am very pleased to finally meet the person behind the artistry.”

Darrell didn't know quite how to reply.

“I'm sure you'll find the location of this school will inspire your muse,” he said. Darrell looked questioningly at her mother, standing just behind the artist. Janice
Connor shrugged, and Arthur Gill continued smoothly. “Since orientation isn't until tomorrow, you may want to take some time to make yourself at home here. I will arrange for a staff member to show you around.”

Carrying a bag in each hand, he turned toward the front doors.

“If you will just follow me,” he said, “I'll show you to the main office.” Darrell scooped up her backpack and, with a black glance at her mother, followed Arthur Gill's retreating back. As they reached the main building, Arthur Gill carefully set the bags to one side of the front door and gallantly swept it open for Darrell and her mother.

Clutching her backpack with its precious contents, Darrell led the way into the building that would be her home for the rest of the summer.

The following hour was a blur. Darrell and her mother found themselves swept through the dark interior of the building by a small, round woman named Louise Follett who worked in the office. Mrs. Follett, clearly uncomfortable with leaving the sanctuary of her orderly desk, fairly flew through the school, with Darrell and Dr. Connor in tow. Darrell's head was spinning, and the classrooms left little impression, until they arrived at the art studio.

It was located at the base of one of the round towers that Darrell had seen from outside. The room was large and completely encased in curved panes of leaded glass. The sun had slipped above the mountains behind the school, and the art studio was flooded with warm summer sunlight, glinting off the taps, brushes, easels, and other equipment that filled the room.

For the first time that day, Darrell felt her heart lift as she looked around delightedly, admiring the wide variety of art supplies.

“I'm afraid I don't know much about this studio,” Mrs. Follett twittered. “I'm certainly more comfortable in the kitchens and the regular classrooms.”

Janice Connor watched her daughter's face with a relieved smile. “Don't worry, Mrs. Follett,” she said. “I'm sure Darrell will be able to find her way around this room without any difficulty at all.”

After a few moments more in the wonderful studio, Mrs. Follett hustled Darrell and her mother quickly through the top floor dormitories and down to the office. She sat back in her chair with a sigh of satisfaction and, duty done with the premature arrivals, set happily to filing registration papers.

Dr. Connor reached her arm around Darrell's shoulders for a quick hug. “I'm afraid that I have to leave now, darling,” she said, glancing at her watch. “I have a
final patient to see this afternoon, and then I have to catch my plane this evening.”

Darrell's happiness from the art studio evaporated. She looked morosely at her mother. “Bye,” she said, without expression.

“Darrell, don't be like that! You saw the art studio. It's not going to be that bad, and if it is, I'll be home in a month. You can tough it out until then. We'll make some special time to be together in August, I promise.”

Darrell opened her mouth to reply but stopped at the feel of a warm hand on her shoulder.

“Welcome to Eagle Glen, Darrell,” said a quiet voice from the dark hall. “I am Professor Myrtle Tooth, principal of the school.”

Darrell found herself shaking hands with a woman very near her own height, with iron-grey hair and clear green eyes.

Professor Tooth nodded at Darrell and turned to Dr. Connor. “I trust that Mrs. Follett has given you her specialty whirlwind tour of our campus?”

Dr. Connor laughed. “Yes, I think we saw everything we need to for now. Mrs. Follett said that Darrell's things have been sent up to her room and we had a good look around the building.” She looked fondly at her still glowering daughter. “Darrell was especially impressed with the art studio.”

Professor Myrtle Tooth smiled and looked straight into Darrell's eyes. Her voice held an unmistakable note of command, though she spoke quietly. “I'm sure you'll find this a very special place, Darrell. By the end of your stay here, you may even find the art studio is one of the
least
interesting elements of this school. There are many subjects to interest an enquiring mind at Eagle Glen.”

Darrell looked puzzled, and her mother spoke up. “That may be true, Professor Tooth, but Darrell's greatest love is her artwork.”

Myrtle Tooth, her eyes on Darrell, smiled. “Eagle Glen is a wonderful school, Dr. Connor, and many of our students have found their lives enriched in ways they never expected.” She nodded goodbye, turned away, and walked into the office and through a door behind Mrs. Follett.

Darrell turned in fury to face her mother. “What was that all about, Mom? I don't want to be forced to take a bunch of subjects I'm not interested in. I have to do enough of that during the school year at home.”

Janice headed out the front door and walked to her car with Darrell trailing behind her. “It's going to be okay, sweetie,” she said. “Professor Tooth told me that the first day is spent touring the various courses offered, and after that you get to make your own choice as to the classes you want to take.” She slid behind the wheel of her car. “I'll call you from Brussels tomorrow night
and you can tell me all about it.” Blowing a kiss that Darrell did not return, she pulled back out onto the driveway, pausing only to let another car drive in, and, with a spray of gravel, she was gone.

Angry with her mother and perplexed from the conversation with Professor Tooth, Darrell wandered down toward the ocean. The school stood on a sort of promontory close to the centre of a small bay that was scooped out of the larger fjord. Darrell could see a jagged row of rocks that formed the northern boundary of the bay. In the other direction, she could see a small lighthouse perched on a rocky outcrop. The path wound back and forth down the cliff side, bypassing large boulders as it made its way to the beach. When she reached the shore, Darrell decided to make for a small point that nestled inside the protection of the lighthouse to the south.

The waves lashed the shore, clouds scudded across the sky, and small whitecaps began to rise up further out in the ocean. The breeze lifted Darrell's brown hair and swirled around her legs as she turned to walk along the beach. Above the tide line, the ground was a mix of rock and sand, packed hard and made for walking. This part of the shore was curved and jagged, with small beaches butting up against the cliffs. Walking paths
criss-crossed the cliffs above, brown scars through the salal and kinnikinnick that covered the ground and grew up the mountainsides.

Darrell wandered along the tide line around the small, curved beach and out to the point of land that formed to the south end. She walked carefully with a measured tread and skirted any of the rocks close to the edge that looked slippery.

It had been hard saying goodbye to her mother, even if she
was
completely infuriating. Darrell's face furrowed in concentration as she tried to think of any possible way to avoid staying at Eagle Glen. The tin-horn honking of Canada geese flying by pierced her consciousness. As she lifted her head to look at the birds she felt the warm sunlight on her face, and she straightened her shoulders.

“It may not be Europe,” she muttered to herself, “but there
is
something interesting about this place.” She scraped a stick along the sand and tried to think of the positives. A month would give her time to figure out why she had such a strange feeling about this school. And, in spite of the swirling wind and the sound of the waves now slapping the shore, it was so quiet here after the city. That had to be a good thing. The school and staff were oddly interesting, and the buildings and setting were beautiful. There was much she could draw here.

Looking out over the bay, Darrell's fingers itched for her sketchbook and charcoal, but she didn't want to go back where there were people just yet. Hard as it was saying goodbye to her mother, it was harder still being in the company of people whom she had never met. She hated the look that formed in their eyes: puzzlement, then dawning understanding and, inevitably, pity. It made her furious. She didn't need anyone's pity. She kicked a small pebble violently, sending it over the edge of the embankment and down into the water.

“Hey!” a voice yelled from below. Darrell was so startled that she jumped backwards. Her feet slipped out from under her and she fell to the ground with a thud. A barnacle painfully scraped her left leg below the hem of her capri pants.

A head popped over the edge of the embankment. The boy was snarling, and he held a large stone threateningly in his hand. “What you think you're doing?” he demanded. “You nearly hit me with that rock!”

With a rope in the other hand, he clambered with some difficulty up the side of the embankment. Darrell felt her stomach contract as she stood up. This boy was bigger and more athletic than she was, and he was clearly very angry. She glanced behind her to measure the distance back to the school. She was surprised by how far she had come. She definitely couldn't beat this guy in a foot race. She decided to tough it out.

“What are you doing with that?” she asked, warily eyeing the rock in his hand.

“Throwing it at you,” he replied nastily, and did.

In spite of his point-blank range, either his aim was poor or he deliberately threw it badly, as the rock just grazed Darrell's shoulder and bounced down the embankment behind her. Her shoulder stinging, Darrell stared in disbelief as the boy picked up another rock. She started to back away, trying to keep her footing on the pebbly surface of the point.

The boy paused, leering. “Hold still,” he commanded. Panic swept through her at the thought that this boy was deliberately going to hurt her.

“Wait a minute —” he drawled, looking her over lazily. “Well, well, well, what do we have here?” Quick as a whip he lashed the rock, this time with deadly accuracy. It hit her right leg with a crack and again bounced off the edge of the embankment. She flinched, but didn't move.

The boy, openly grinning, walked slowly toward Darrell. Anger began to wrap itself around the edges of the fear she felt, and she lifted her chin and stared stonily at him.

“What the hell do you think you're doing?” she spat. “I didn't mean to hit you with that rock. I didn't even know you were down there.”

“Just giving you a taste of your own medicine,” he said, still grinning. He bent down and secured the rope
in his hand around a jagged piece of rock. Darrell continued to back away, afraid to take her eyes off him.

“You walk pretty well, for a cripple,” he taunted. “Nice little plastic foot you've got there.” Darrell's mouth dropped. “Let me give you a little advice, Gimpy. This spit is mine. I fish here, I crab here. Stay away from it, or I'll have to see how fast you can run when I throw a rock at your good leg.”