The Stone House

7.

I must be strong for Penelope.

I have abandoned my crop for now. Let god decide. I will muster those who are horrified by what has happened to me and guilt them into helping with my harvest. Later though. That can all happen later.

I haven't left the house from some days now. I sleep most of the day. I try to remember to wash, try to feed myself and Penelope.

In the evening I stare at the stones that fill my living room window.

And at night I wait.

I lay awake, my wife's sleeping dress bundled in my arms until I hear that deathly rattle. Then I stand at my bedroom window and wait for the train to come.

Each night, it disappoints.

But each morning I think... perhaps tonight may be different.

Because there is nothing I would not give for one last sight of my wife and child.

***

Time it seems has become quite slippery. Days and nights seem to meld together. I have long since stopped winding my clocks, and with such little light in the house it's hard to know exactly if down is up or up is down.

I make porridge each day for Penelope. I make sure to take her to pick some Saskatoon berries for garnish and we pick sage that grows around our house and watch the sun rise, no, no... how silly of me – it is setting now.

I read to Penelope as much as I can and have stopped chastising her for drawings. They are now all over my house.

I slide a small pile of them from our kitchen counter and place our kettle on the stove.

With the sage in my hand I think again of Catherine, I had seen her smudge with Sage so many times, and my heart stabs with pain that I should have asked her more about the practice. But it was her private time for thought and reflection and I respected that...

As the sage burns I cup the smoke it in my hands and lift it over my head anyway, imitating her and inhaling the smell of the burning plant, reminding me so completely of Catherine it was as if she was standing right there with me.

I hear the cursed creaking roll of the train approaching and look down at Penelope's drawing.

It is a picture of her, Catherine and Abbey holding hands on the tracks.

I jolt awake. "Penelope?" I shout while running up to her and Abbey's room. The room is empty. Her small possessions are strewn about everywhere.

Oh my god no.

I sprint downstairs and outside. I see Penelope's small form on the tracks, tiny suitcase by her side and teddy in her hand.

"Penelope!" I scream. The cobwebs of my mind blown out.

Good God please forgive me!

The train is coming from the town and I can hear it getting louder.

I sprint through the field of corn as the train approaches.

"Penelope!" I shout again, my legs pumping as hard as they can. I see her there as the train approaches. She stands resolutely on the tracks, fighting back sobs.

The train fills my vision my daughter tiny in front of its huge black form.

I sprint towards her. My whole spirit focussed on my daughter. I skid to a halt just before the tracks and manage to snatch her back just in time.

The train roars passed, inches away from us. I hold onto my daughter as tight as I can. Hugging her into me.

The train passes in a blur of grey in-front of me and I can almost see our reflection in the shining carriages.

But... I slowly realise it's not my reflection. It's Catherine, kneeling down with Abbey in front of me, slowly forming and becoming more and more clear in-front of me.

I have to fight the feeling to reach out and push my arm into the rushing train to touch them. I can barely breathe, like my heart is being held by a warm hand.

Catherine's lips are moving. I can't hear but I don't need to. She is close enough that I can read her lips.

"Abbey is safe now. Look after Penelope."

I nod hugging Penelope's face to my chest.

"I love you." I say.

"I love you too" she says back.

Behind Catherine in this shadowy grey version of the prairie I see hundreds of people, walking towards us. Her ancestors, people of this land step forward until they line the whole track in the shimmering reflection of the passing train.

My wife and Abbey were cared for.

Then the train has passed and they are gone.

***

I push another stone home. Cement splashes on the floorboards of my bedroom but I won't stop.

Penelope passes me up another stone and I fit it into the last remaining hole.

"All done." I say.

My bedroom window that looks out onto the tracks is now filled.

I feel like the hole in my broken heart is filled too. Perhaps one day it can mend.

I take Penelope's hand and look down at her. Catherine's eyes shine up at me.

***

This is based on the story of The Screaming House which is an old stone house in Indian Head, Saskatchewan. 

The legend goes that you can still hear Catherine's screams as the train thunders past.

I went to visit it expecting to be terrified. What struck me however was the atmosphere of the place wasn't scary so much as sad... with perhaps hint of determination and as crazy as it might sound... hope.