Eternal Spring A Young Adult Short Story Collection (10 page)

While it amused Ty to think he’d stumbled into a scene
straight from Ray Bradbury or Phillip K. Dick, common sense said otherwise.
Eleanor Quimby was long gone from this round ball called Earth and no amount of
Sci-Fi supposing could change that.

So what about the chick in the water?

The day was promising to be exceptional, and Ty had a whole
lot of nothing to do. Under normal circumstances he might’ve gone to
La Villita
;
eaten tacos from Ernesto’s corner stand and fibbed to his grandparents about
being happy in his new home. Suddenly glad he had all the time in the world and
none of the accountability, Ty figured he’d camp at the Vanishing Spring and
try to get to the bottom of the mysterious girl.

Ellie fidgeted in Mama’s best dress. Slightly short in the
arms and awful tight in the bosom, it was too fine for bookkeeping and
cleaning. Accented with lace and tiny covered buttons, it was the kind of
garment one wore to baptisms and weddings. Mama herself had only worn it a
handful of times, all very special occasions.

Tugging at her sleeves, Ellie hunched her shoulders in an
attempt to give her cinched ribcage some relief. She stood on a chair, doing
her best not to wobble as Mama took out the skirt’s hem. Pa was still sleeping
off his “celebration” in the loft and her siblings had been sent out back to
play. So for now, it was just the two of them.

She needed to change before their old neighbor came to fetch
her. But Mama was being uncharacteristically kind in giving Ellie her finest
dress, and she hated to spoil the moment. Eventually, Ellie’s good sense won
out.

“Mama,” she said hesitantly. “Shouldn’t I get changed back
inta my housedress before Mr. Betts gets here?”

Mama paused mid-stitch. Her nervous eyes shifted up toward
Ellie and back to the task at hand. When she spoke, her voice sounded as
dilapidated as their house. “You do know what’s comin’, doncha?”

What’s comin’
…

Ellie had thought on it most of the night. Farmer Betts had
hired her. It seemed the most logical conclusion. Ellie had some schoolin’ and
she was good with figures. Of course, she would’ve been even better if she’d
been allowed to finish school. Father McGinty claimed he’d never seen such a
natural inclination for arithmetic.

Realizing Mama waited for her answer, Ellie tested her
hypothesis. “Aren’t I to keep Farmer Bett’s books?”

Mama jerked her head forward in a single nod. “And keep his
house, cook his meals, and see to his needs.” Her explanation ended severely.
Ellie waited for more, but it never came.

Farmer Betts lived a half dozen miles down the road. By the
time she saw to his supper, it would be night. Ellie shivered at the idea of
walking back in the dark. “At the end of the day, will Pa come to fetch me
home?”

“This ain’t your home no more, Ellie May.” Mama’s words were
like stepping barefoot into the snow, instantly freezing her to the core. Ellie
took a moment to recover, reckoning she’d misunderstood.

“Surely, I’m not to stay under the same roof as an old
bachelor?” What would people say? Shame prickled Ellie cheeks as she imagined
sitting through mass at St. Joseph’s surrounded by a cloud of respectable
condemnation.

Mama hadn’t the decency to look at her. Instead she focused
on a scrap of bone the dog had left half gnawed under the table. “You’re to be
Mrs. Betts. Hezekiah has agreed to give your Pa the deed to the farm in
exchange for your hand. It’s done—so there’s no use cryin’ about it.”

Marry Farmer Betts?

Bile rose to choke Ellie’s throat as she stared at Mama in
disbelief. Leaping from the chair, she pushed out the warped front door of the
shack that was no longer her home. Plump, bitter tears rolled down her cheeks
as she blindly wove her way through the purple rows of alfalfa. The newly
hemmed skirt of Mama’s dress caught on a nail as she jumped the fence. It tore,
but Ellie didn’t care. That dress would become her funeral shroud before it
would see a wedding!

Ellie stopped. Her spirit and body collapsed as one onto the
damp grass. Was death the only way out? She had no other family, no distant kin
she could appeal to for shelter. After Pa had pulled her from school she’d lost
all her friendly connections. In truth, she was alone in the world, except…

Her gaze caught on flat surface of the little pond. A dark
shadow shimmered where there should have been sun. On her hands and knees, she
crept to the edge of the water.

Her breath caught as two beguiling brown eyes stared back at
her. The instant he saw her, the boy’s face lit up like a Forth of July
firecracker. His relieved smile welcomed her into a place she didn’t know
existed—a home not of wood and earth but of living flesh.

Tyler watched the girl intently, trying to discern the words
rapidly falling from her lovely, trembling lips. Although he couldn’t hear her,
he understood the language of her sorrow. The tears coursing down her cheeks
were a plea for help. Not just any help, but his help.

“It’s going to be okay.”

She blinked. Her
attention flickered to
his mouth and then back
to his eyes as she shook her head. She couldn’t
hear him either.

“It’s going to be okay,” Ty said again only this time slower
and with exaggerated enunciation. Then he touched his chest with his
fingertips. “I’m going to help you.”

Her eyes filled with questions as she waited expectantly to
see what he would do next. Ty had no clue what that would be. If the girl was
Eleanor Quimby, as he suspected, she’d died over a century earlier. No not
died—disappeared. They never found her.

Where did you go?

He probed for answers in those tragic blue eyes. If only he
could reach down and snatch her from the jaws of misery. Sharp stones cut into
his knees and he readjusted impatiently. There had to be something he could do.
Just like the memories of his life in
La Villita
, the answers were within his grasp.
He just needed focus—but first, he needed to get rid of the freakin’
boulder slicing his kneecap in half.

Ty shifted and reached down to remove the offensive chunk of
rock, fully intending to hurl it into the pond. Then the heavens parted and he
saw the small, white rock in a new and wonderful light.

Lordy, he was somethin’ to look at. Even in her agitated
state, Ellie May’s thoughts were full up with him rather than her own troubles.
She watched him lift a ragged white stone with thoughtful contemplation.

From the corner of her eye, she spotted movement coming
through the alfalfa: Pa and the odious neighbor who would make her a wife
against her wishes. Panic lodged in throat like curdled buttermilk.

The boy’s eyes widened in concern. His neck craned, but if
his view was anything like hers, there was only room for each other and little
else. Frustration pulled his features into a scowl with soft edges. As his gaze
snapped back to her like a tether, his dark brows lifted.

Ellie leaned down over the water, getting as close as she
dared to her only ally. What was it about him that made her feel so safe?

“Please,” she begged. “Help me.”

His demeanor, despite being troubled for her sake, was as
warm as a waterin’ hole in July. Some might suppose him to be a devil, sent to
tempt her in her most difficult hours. Satan’s tormentor he might’ve been,
except she reckoned she’d rather suffer torments at the hands of this
particular devil, than earn her salvation by marrying horrible Famer Betts with
her Maker’s blessing. But as the boy’s face broke into an earnest smile that
reached from the hollows of his soul into the depths of his eyes, Ellie decided
he was her angel. Her savior.

His eyes silently pleaded for her to trust him. Believe in
his salvation.

Slowly, his hand reached toward her. The surface of the pond
rippled as four fingertips broke the surface like a wide-mouth bass after a
bug. Ellie extended her hand and touched warm, living flesh. Answering his dazzling
smile with one of her own, she whispered, “Save me.”

Then intertwining her fingers with his, she tumbled headlong
into the spring.

The group of girls collectively recognized Ty Diaz’s tousled
head and froze in various states of disbelief. It had been nearly a week since
the last time they’d purposely run into him. Only this time, he wasn’t alone.
Someone rested against his shoulder, her shiny, ebony mane cascading over the
back of the bench next to the Vanishing Spring.

Hoping the girl was horsey or at the very least,
flamboyantly Goth, they tottered closer for a better look.

As they flanked the couple, Ty greeted them, looking mildly
uncomfortable but mostly jubilant. His eyes sparked in a way they’d never seen
in all the months they’d known him. His
smile made them feel
all gushy and weak in the knees. Under Ty’s charismatic spell, it took a second
for the girls of Quimby Acres to greet him back.

Clinging to one another for support, they turned their
attention toward the girl—and unanimously hated her on sight. She was
ravishing. From her dark lashes and luminous blue eyes, to her
peaches-and-cream complexion and button nose. She even had a little mole above
her upper lip, the kind no amount of cosmetic surgery could replicate. Her
cobalt designer warm-up suit accentuated the deep blue of her eyes. Those same
eyes ebbed with a joyous vibrancy that mirrored Ty’s own happiness in a truly
unsettling way.

“This is my girlfriend, Elle,” Ty proclaimed, his voice full
of unmistakable pride.

Elle tipped her head and fluttered her lashes in a gesture
far too genuine, too lacking in refinement for the Quimby girls’ tastes.
“Pleased to meet you.”

She had a hint of a country accent that unfortunately did
nothing to lessen her appeal. In her lap, she clutched a book. Her fingers
reverently cradled the small volume of Shakespeare’s sonnets that they
recognized from last quarter’s literature unit.

Tottering forward, Blondie’s
heavily-lined
eyes narrowed as she attempted to do damage control. “Wow, Ty. Your old
girlfriend came to visit. That’s so sweet.”

“Not visit,” Ty corrected her. “Elle’s living here…with me.”

“Really?” The brunette arched a heavily penciled brow.
“That’s strange.”

Ty lifted his shoulders, tightening his muscles in a sexy
shrug. “Not really. There’s more than enough room at my house, especially with
my parents away.”

Blondie elbowed her uncouth friend in the ribs. “Alonna
means it’s quite a surprise.”

Ty chuckled, his eyes drifting back toward Elle like the
girl was his anchor. As their gazes locked in reverence, Ty murmured, “More
than a surprise. It’s—”

“A miracle,” Elle breathed. “A true miracle.”

* * *

Carey Corp lives in the greater Cincinnati area with her
loveable yet out-of-control family. She wrote her first book, a brilliant
retelling of
Star
Wars
, at the prodigious age of seven. She harbors a voracious passion (in
no consistent order) for
mohawks
, Italy, musical
theater, chocolate, and Jane Austen. Her debut novel for teens,
The Halo
Chronicles: The
Guardian
, earned her national recognition as 2010 Golden Heart® finalist
for best young adult fiction. For more information, visit her at
http://www.careycorp.com/

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The Princess
of Egypt Must Die

By

Stephanie
Dray

"
Remember that you are a
royal princess of Egypt," my mother says, wiping tears from my cheeks.

"But I'm not the only one," I say, miserably.
There is also Lysandra, my half-sister. The source of my tears.

"You mustn't let Lysandra bully you."

My mother uses clean linen strips to bandage my bleeding
knees, both of which were scraped raw when Lysandra nearly trampled me beneath
the hooves of her horse. "She's never punished for it," I complain.
"She knows she can do as she pleases just because she is the daughter of
the king's chief wife."

"Not for long," my mother vows. "Soon, I will
be first wife here."

My father's harem is filled with women who wait upon his
every whim. He has wives and concubines and even
hetaeras
like Thais, who sells her favor
to the king. But my mother, Berenice, is fast becoming the king's favorite
wife.

My mother is young and clever. Many of the Macedonian lords
who have been snubbed by Queen Eurydice now turn to my mother. My mother has
allies, beauty, and a keen mind for intrigue. "I swear, Arsinoë, one day I
will be the king's first wife. When that happens, I will see that Lysandra is
punished for her cruelty. Until then, you must stand up for yourself."

"How can I? Lysandra is taller than me. She's prettier
than me. The king notices her; he gives her a horse just for learning to play
the lyre, but I can't have one until I copy all of Plato's writings onto
papyrus scrolls."

"That may be true, but Lysandra isn't smarter than you
are, Arsinoë," my mother says. "You must outsmart her. You must make
the price for hurting you so steep that she won't want to pay it. You must
teach her to expect
revenge
."

I bite my lower lip, sniffling all the while. "I don't
want revenge."

"Then what is it that you want, my soft-hearted little
fool of a daughter?"

"I only want us to be sisters," I cry, the sting
in my heart sharper than the sting of my bleeding knees.

"You and Lysandra are
not
sisters," my mother hisses.
"You're
rivals
.
Never forget it."