Reading the Bones (2 page)

“Oh, I just had a dreadful thought, Officer,” Aunt Margaret said. “Do you think there are more dead ... ah, bones or skeletons around here?”

“Yes, ma'am, it's possible there are more prehistoric human or cultural remains in this area. But I hope you're not planning on digging them up.”

“Certainly not, Officer Pratt.” My aunt looked shocked. “But tell me, just what are we supposed to do now?” Her initial alarm had now turned to irritation.

“Don't worry, Mrs. Randall,” Officer Pratt said. “Now that Dr. Forsythe and I have determined that this matter isn't a concern for contemporary forensics, we'll contact the Archaeology Branch in Victoria. They'll be glad to
hear we have your assurance there will be no further disturbance to the remains until they can send someone to deal with all this. I'm sure the Archaeology Branch will also want to contact the nearest First Nations band.”

“Did you say First Nations band? Why do the Indians need to get involved?” Whenever Aunt Margaret's voice got edgy like that, I made sure to stay out of her way.

“It's out of respect, ma'am,” Officer Pratt said. “Any accidental discovery of human remains of aboriginal ancestry needs to be reported to the local First Nations people.”

Uncle Stuart's face had turned red, and as he spoke his voice was a little jittery. “Sounds like we're getting into a lot of red tape. What happens next?”

“Well, then an archaeologist will come and determine what to do next,” Officer Pratt said. “I guess in the future you might want to think twice before digging up your backyard.” He grinned, but Aunt Margaret and Uncle Stuart didn't find him funny.

“So what were you making, anyway?” Dr. Forsythe asked.

“A pond,” I blurted. Then I glanced at my aunt and uncle, whose faces were drawn and pale. “Well, look on the bright side. At least we weren't putting in a swimming pool!”

The next morning I woke to the sound of voices coming from outside. When I glanced out the window, I saw a police car out front, along with a battered red pickup truck. A new cluster of people hovered on the opposite side of the street. I ran into my aunt and uncle's room, which overlooked the backyard. Through the window I saw Officer Pratt talking to someone dressed in a khaki safari shirt and pants, and a fishing hat covered in collector's pins.

The night before, Uncle Stuart had gotten a call from someone saying an archaeologist would be coming to the house in the morning. I didn't know much about what archaeologists did, except that they dug up old things. Once, I watched a movie with my mom called
Raiders of the Lost Ark
. She said it was a classic. The main character, an archaeologist named Indiana Jones, was always in and out of life-threatening adventures as he travelled around the world in search of ancient stuff for museums. But the chubby gnome standing in the backyard hardly looked like a daring treasure hunter to me.

I ran back to my room, threw on my favourite ketchup-stained Vancouver Canucks shirt and some shorts off the floor, then dashed downstairs. Just as I got to the back door, Aunt Margaret came in. “Oh, there
you are. I was wondering how long it would take you to get down here.”

I grinned as I brushed past her.

“Wait a minute! You're not going out looking like that!”

Too late — I was already leaping down the back steps three at time.

“Ah, here she is, my niece, Peggy,” Uncle Stuart announced as I arrived at his side. “She was the first to recognize it was a skull. Peggy, you remember Officer Pratt from yesterday?”

I smiled at the officer.

“And this is Dr. McKay,” my uncle added. “She's an archaeologist.”

The stout figure bent over our pond hole straightened to greet me. “Please, just call me Eddy, short for Edwina. All my friends do.”

My eyebrows were arched so high my forehead must have looked like corrugated cardboard.

“Bet you were expecting Indiana Jones in a fedora cracking a long whip!”

The adults beside me chuckled.

“No, not really. I just wasn't expecting you'd be an old lady.” I heard my aunt gasp from behind. Then Officer Pratt laughed again.

“Well, I can understand what you mean,” Eddy said. “Most blue hairs I know prefer digging around in their gardens instead of old burials.” Then she smiled, and her warm eyes were like deep pools filled with unspoken words. She rested her hand lightly on my shoulder. “You seem to be a keen observer, Peggy. When I come back tomorrow, maybe you could help me excavate these remains.”

“Sure,” I blurted. Then I felt a sting of guilt about having called her an old lady. “I'd like to help. I mean, really, just tell me what to do and I'll do it!”

My aunt's voice cut through my excitement like a knife. “Well, now, just wait a minute. I'm not sure that's the kind of thing a child should be doing. Peggy's only twelve years old, Dr. McKay.”

Aunt Margaret was my mother's older sister. I used to think she was cool, but that was before I came to live with her. She didn't have children of her own, and I think she had unrealistic expectations about what kids were really like. She was always asking in a critical tone, “Is that what your mother lets you do?” Or said stuff like, “I can't believe your mom lets you get away with that!” She didn't like my hockey jerseys, she was always giving me “logical consequences,” and what was it with her and tidy bedrooms? And just because digging around in the dirt wasn't her kind of thing, it didn't mean she should stop me from having fun. Besides, they were just old bones; it wasn't like a real person.

“Maybe we should call Peggy's mom and see what she thinks,” Uncle Stuart said. He flashed me a secret wink before Aunt Margaret shot him a piercing glare.

We all followed Eddy and Officer Pratt out front where the neighbours were still gawking from across the road. Aunt Margaret mumbled something to Uncle Stuart, but I only caught the last word —
embarrassing
.

“Okay, folks, there's nothing to be worried about,” Officer Pratt said. “The Randalls have accidentally uncovered a prehistoric burial in their backyard and we've just finished securing the area. You should all go on home now.”

After the officer's announcement, most people drifted away. By the expressions on their faces, it wasn't the kind of exciting news they were hoping to hear. Then I noticed this old guy leaning on the police car.

“Hey, Pratt, got any idea what phase it's from?” The man's voice was as gruff and gnarly as an old tree.

“Can't tell much yet, Walter,” the officer replied. “We won't know anything until Dr. McKay finishes excavating.”

The man turned to Eddy and growled, “McKay.”

Eddy nodded back but didn't smile. “Mr. Grimbal.”

Officer Pratt turned to Aunt Margaret and Uncle Stuart. “I'm surprised your new neighbour didn't tell you that Crescent Beach was a prehistoric village and burial ground.”

“It's because we haven't met yet,” Aunt Margaret said, holding out her hand. “I'm Margaret Randall and this is my husband, Stuart, and our niece, Peggy. We intended to get out and meet our neighbours, just not like this.”

“Sure, I know how it is. I'm Walter Grimbal. I live around the corner on Agar.” When he smiled, he revealed yellowed teeth. “I run the Real Treasures and Gifts store over on Beecher Street.” Then he glanced at me. “I'll bet all this seems pretty exciting to a young lady like you.”

I'd seen Mr. Grimbal's store but had the impression it was actually a junk shop. I smiled weakly as he put his cigarette-stained fingers on my shoulder. He smelled stale, like my room when it was filled with dirty old socks. Then I noticed a small hand-carved totem pole hanging around his neck.

“Walter here considers himself Crescent Beach's local expert on prehistoric Native people,” Officer Pratt said.

“That's right,” Mr. Grimbal said. “If there's anything you want to know about the ancient folks, just ask me.” He raised his bushy eyebrows and gave another rotten smile.

“Well, I've got to get busy and write my report,” Officer Pratt said. “I'm afraid you'll have to put your plans for a pond on hold for now, Mr. and Mrs. Randall.”

“I hope it's not going to be too long. It's not our fault that our property's on top of an old burial.” Aunt Margaret's voice cut to the point sharp as an X-ACTO Knife.

“We'll do what we can, Mrs. Randall,” Eddy said politely. “In the meantime I'd better run along, too. I have a lot to prepare for our excavation.” She shook my aunt's and uncle's hands and nodded cautiously at Mr. Grimbal. “I'll see you soon, Peggy.”

After they left, Mr. Grimbal turned to Aunt Margaret. “Ah, too bad you got those sons of guns from the Archaeology Branch involved. You'll have old snooty-pants there prodding around for days, then someone from the band will want to come by ... You'll be lucky if things are back to normal by the end of the summer. No pond, no backyard, no privacy!”

“Well, it would be safe to say I do have regrets — mostly that I ever got the idea of putting in a pond in the first place,” Aunt Margaret said. “If you'll excuse me, Mr. Grimbal, I'm feeling a bit weary right now. I'm going to have a rest. Nice meeting you and I hope to see you again.”

“Oh, you'll see me again,” Mr. Grimbal growled in his raspy voice.

Uncle Stuart followed my aunt into the house, and I wandered into the backyard. I was glad to get away from Mr. Grimbal's awkward stare. I knelt by the gaping pond hole with its dark earth and partially exposed skull. Officer Pratt had said it could be as much as five thousand years old — and right here in our yard!

Gently, I rubbed my fingers over the smooth, sun-warmed skull. It reminded me of the time when my class was studying water mammals at the aquarium. We were each given a box of seal and otter bones that smelled rancid and felt gritty and greasy. But this skull was different. It felt more like the weathered driftwood scattered along the beach and smelled earthy.

I was scanning the yard for more signs of prehistoric treasures hidden under the thin blanket of earth when a sudden blustering wind caused the branches and leaves to wave and rustle frantically. For some reason I suddenly felt self-conscious, as if someone were watching me. I glanced around the yard and up to the windows, but there was no one. Gingerly, I walked up the stairs and resisted the urge to look back over my shoulder.

That night my mom called. Before I could talk to her, Aunt Margaret said she wanted some private time on the phone and then closed the door to her bedroom. I waited out in the hall, trying not to listen, but now and then my aunt's voice would go all shrill.

“Really, Liz, it's bad enough having this creepy thing in our backyard. I really don't think Peggy should ...” Then there was silence. I was dying to know what Mom was saying. I went into my room and quietly pushed the talk button on my telephone.

“And if anyone's the type to enjoy getting into a
dirt hole to excavate ancient bones, it would be Peggy,” came Mom's voice from the other end. “She loves that kind of stuff. I know it's not your kind of thing, Margie, but it would really be good for Peggy. It's been tough for her this last while, and this is the kind of distraction she really needs.”

I felt a flood of affection for my mom at that moment.

Aunt Margaret sighed. “Okay, Liz, I'll try it your way. I'll get Peggy now. I'm sure she'll want to hear what you have to say.”

“Ah, I have the feeling she already has. Hello, Peggy, sweetheart, is that you on the other line?”

Moms — they know everything!

After I talked with my mother for a while, it was impossible to go to sleep. I was excited about helping Eddy with the excavation. The only thing I wasn't happy about was that Mom wouldn't be around to share the experience.

Moving to Crescent Beach with my aunt and uncle at the beginning of summer was part of my mom's plan to get me back to nature. She'd just finished reading
Unplugging Our Children from the Electronic Magicians
when Aunt Margaret and Uncle Stuart announced they'd bought a house near the beach.

“All the jobs are out east, Peggy,” Mom had told me. “Given our circumstances, I think the best thing for you would be to stay here and live with Margie and Stu for a while. It will be the perfect opportunity for you to learn to appreciate the outdoors.”

The part about learning to appreciate the outdoors was fine, because I really enjoyed nature. In the city,
being “outdoors” meant busy streets, tall buildings, apartment blocks, and stores. In Crescent Beach it meant seeing the whole sky, smelling the salt and the seaweed from the ocean, hearing birds, the breaking of waves, and faraway voices. I loved everything about living in Crescent Beach — except it wasn't with Mom.

After about two weeks with Aunt Margaret, I pleaded with Mom to let me stay with Aunt Stella and Uncle Ron in Vancouver. They had four kids, and Nicky, their oldest, was my favourite cousin. But Mom figured it would be too much to ask them to take on another kid. So then I tried to get her to let me go to Golden to stay with Aunt Norma, who didn't have a husband or kids.

“Norma is far too busy with her work at the newspaper,” Mom said. “She'd never be around to watch you.”

Exactly! That was what would have made it so perfect.

At least the new house had given Aunt Margaret something to focus on besides me. She spent most of her time painting walls or picking out flooring or window covers. If it wasn't for that, I'd be her project. And since I started living with her, I'd discovered we hardly ever agreed on anything. Aunt Margaret thought I should be reading the classics, while I preferred mystery novels. She kept buying me icky pink and mauve outfits made of spandex to replace my comfy old hockey jerseys and skateboard T-shirts. And then she started talking about signing me up for pottery classes or guitar lessons so I could make new friends.