The Lost Stone Ring

Return to England

I look out the dark window of the luxury car that had picked me up from the airport in London, my headphones over my ears, Royals drowning out all sound that may try to come in. I absentmindedly run my hand over the soft warm fur in my lap turning to glance at the large, squat man seated next to me as he turns the page in his newspaper. I turn my eyes back to the image outside the window flying past us. The gray, dim, and misty light filtering through the cloud cover matching my mood perfectly and muting the colors of the surrounding fields and houses that we are driving passed. I had been just fine in my tiny apartment on the west side of St. Louis, and now I'm here, in England. Not just England though, of course not. The part of the countryside we are currently driving through can only be classified as RICH England. I have seen like ten manor houses, like Downton Abbey levels of big and fancy.

After my parents died, the state put me in foster care until they could find my father's brother and his wife, apparently there was no address or phone number for them anywhere. They never did find them. Too bad for my social workers, because none would keep my case for long. I'd had several of them, once my parents left me I became a discipline problem from hell. I would fight my foster families, fight the system, fight the teachers, fight other kids, run away for weeks at a time, and generally anything I could do to make these people angry. That is, until my sixteenth birthday. On that day I went to the judge in charge of my case, dragging the poor sucker they had put in charge of me three months before behind me, and asked if they had found my aunt and uncle yet. When Judge Rita Ortez told me they hadn't I asked to become an emancipated teen. She agreed, thinking it was better than keeping me in the system another two years. With a promise that if she helped me I would graduate high school at the least, she helped me get my apartment and a job as a secretary working for her daughter-in-law Samantha, who is a dentist. I was happy, content, and getting by, I even got my GED; until two weeks ago anyway. Then my life, the one I was happy with and built for myself, exploded and crumbled around me in ashes and ruin.

A lawyer, the man now seated next to me in the car, showed up at my door two weeks ago on Monday, before I went to work, like just walking out the door to go get my morning coffee, and in a very snooty British accent told me he was in charge of my aunt and uncle's estate and that I was the sole heir. He told me that they were killed in a boating accident off the coast of Africa, something about being caught in a terrible storm it seems, though he didn't act like he believed what he was telling me at all. The man, a Mr. Fredric Lagrange, told me I had two weeks to set my affairs in order, at which point he would return and collect me, and any belongings I wished to take with me to England. He handed me a manilla envelope with an address and six signed blank checks inside. He told me that I was to use the checks to procure packing items and to ship anything that I wanted that I couldn't take on the plane with me. He also told me that he would speak to my landlord on my behalf about ending my lease early, not that I was too worried about that. My landlord, Carl, was awesome and super understanding, and he knew that I was a good and clean tennent. Even with my pet and being as young as I am, he came in yesterday morning, looked at everything and handed me my security deposit, took my keys, and wished me luck. I'm really gonna miss my cute little one bedroom apartment, just a short walk away from my best friend and his family.

So, now, here I am, Mr. Lagrange next to me in the back seat reading a paper, the stone-faced driver in the front seat, my one suitcase in the trunk and me, bored out of my ever loving mind. We turn onto a long gravel driveway and pass through a tall open gate made of twisted copper, the word 'Over' on one side and 'Hill' on the other in twisting capital letters at the top, where the two halves come together.

Inside the rose covered wall are elegant gardens of flowers, an immaculately manicured lawn, trees trimmed with such severity they don't dare grow a leaf out of place, and at the end of the drive, the biggest house I have ever seen in my life. It looks like a small castle made of cream colored stone with aged copper roofing. Standing in front of the house are four lines of people, eight in front of about a hundred others.