The Girl Who Could Find Things

After her accident, Leveda Leeman was the girl who could find things. A lost earring here, a misplaced sweater there, buttons and stray knitting needles and once a lost letter. No one thought much about it at the time.

The night before she turned six, Leveda fell from the hay loft in her daddy's barn and landed cruelly on a jagged heap of metal tractor parts. It was three long weeks before she woke up on the makeshift cot in the kitchen and if Naomi Leeman, who had never left her side in all that time was to be believed, her first words were It's in the root cellar, Mama, by the corn crib.

Her youngest child had been unconscious - at death's door if the truth be told and now nothing but skin and bones - for almost a month and naturally Naomi barely heard the words. She cradled Leveda and smiled through a flood of tears, finally pulling herself together long enough to send one of the older boys for Will.

Fetch your daddy, William, she told him, Tell him she's awake!

The root cellar, Leveda repeated, by the corn crib, then the sensible and far more welcome words, I'm hungry, Mama.

Yes, child, Naomi soothed her, Hush now, there's soup on the stove and your daddy's comin', jist hush now.

Leveda's recovery was the talk of the village. The Courier picked up the story, then the Spectator and finally a reporter from the Chronicle (all the way from Halifax!) showed up on the Leeman's front porch. They smiled and asked questions and took pictures, drank Naomi's coffee and wrote about miracles. It was heady stuff, everyone agreed, overwhelming for a poor farm family on an isolated island and crucifying for a shy six year old who couldn't even remember the accident. After the Chronicle's story, William and Naomi had had enough. They quietly and politely began to turn folks away, shielding themselves from any more attention, wanting nothing more than to raise their family and work their farm as they had before. Laveda turned seven, then eight, then in the blink of an eye, twelve and thirteen. By then, except for the Leemans, the accident was all but forgotten and the little girl who had come so close to dying, was a happy, bright-eyed and pretty teenager. She walked with a barely noticeable limp - a tractor part had sheared a tendon in one leg and it never quite completely healed - but it was a small price to pay, Will and Naomi liked to tell each other, a small price for a life. Naomi had never told Will about Laveda's waking words, had, in point of fact, never given them another thought. Until Will's mother, Miz Lucy, took to feeling poorly.

Wisdom and age were valued commodities in the village but practicality was valued more and the practicality of it was that at 86, Lucy Leeman was increasingly more forgetful about keeping the wood stove fire going or taking her medicine or turning the iron off. Sometimes she lost track of time and wasn't sure what day it was. She began getting lost and sometimes would forget to eat or worse, eat and not clean up, leaving a feast for the ants.

The older boys are gone, Naomi pointed out to Will reasonably, so the spare room's empty. She eats like a bird anyway and it'll be easier to keep an eye on her here rather than traipsing down to The Point two, three times a day. I reckon we'll both be feelin' better if she's here with us.

When he hesitated, Naomi smiled. If somethin' were to happen, Will, she said gently, I reckon it'd be better here than there.

And so, Lucy came to stay. Will and the boys scubbed and polished the floor and repainted the walls. Naomi sewed curtains and Laveda washed the windows until they shone. They beat the old oval rug within an inch of its life and laid it back down looking new. Nana brought some spare linens and towels and Aunt Pearl recovered a chair she wasn't using and had two of the Sullivan boys deliver it. Aunt Vi sent lavender cachets and sweet smelling soap for the tiny bathroom and on the day Lucy moved in, Miz Clara was there with fresh flowers by the armfuls and a small windowbox herb garden. It was a good day.

Laveda helped her grandmother arrange her belongings - the little bedside clock, the patchwork quilt she'd had since her wedding night, her Bible, a small collection of books and her porcelain figurines, a slightly battered radio, her knitting basket, her scrapbooks - and finally a jewelry box, a miniature hope chest with a sweet cedar smell, no bigger than a breadbox and still with its original smooth and well cared for finish. Laveda brushed her fingers over it and - just for the merest second - something around her, something very nearly primal, seemed to shift and she jumped back, withdrawing her hand as if she'd touched a live wire. The muscles in her face contracted sharply and then instantly relaxed, her eyes closed and then opened in surprise.

It's not lost, she muttered, it's in the root cellar by the corn crib. The chain broke and it fell off but you didn't see.

Alarmed, Lucy snatched the girl and gave her a thorough shake.

Laveda! she said more harshly then she intended, Laveda, what are you talking about?

The girl shook her head as if to clear her vision and gave her grandmother a puzzled look.

Your cameo, Gran, she said clearly, the one granddaddy gave you. It fell off when you was in the root cellar that day. The day I fell.

How do you know that, child? Lucy demanded, Tell me how you know that!

But Leveda just shrugged and wriggled free, tugging at her grandmother hands and pulling her to her feet.

The root cellar, mostly unused since Will had renovated the shed into a greenhouse garden, was damp and dark and smelled of mildew but Laveda, holding her lantern high, went straight to the corner where the remains of the corn crib still stood. She knelt and began brushing away the crumbles of dirt and spider webs - it gave Lucy an unexpected chill to watch and she felt a little trembly, as if a goose had walked over her grave - and then Leveda gave a gentle tug and pulled the long missing cameo free. Lucinda Laveda Leeman promptly fainted dead away.

They had to tell Naomi, of course, she knew where the spirits of amonia were and certainly wasn't about to hand them over without a proper explantion, but, they all agreed, there weren't much need for anyone else to know. Leveda continued to be the girl who could find things and her gift came to be taken for granted although there was never to be another find like the cameo.

Reckon she jist has a talent for it, Naomi would say and do her best to ignore the queer feeling in her belly when she thought of the root cellar or the accident. The cameo had brought back the memory of Laveda's words when she'd woken up and she didn't like to think about it.

It don't do to dwell on them things you don't understand, Will, she said firmly and put the whole matter to rest, The child's got a knack for finding things is all, like some kin find water or such, ain't that right, Mama?

Oh, ayuh, Lucy would say, running her fingers over her cameo necklace and smiling to herself, I 'spect so.  I certainly 'spect so.