diamond joy and the traveling stones, chapter four

CHAPTER FOUR
​Lizbet

So here I am, sitting on the floor, leaning against my bed, trying to write it all down before I forget. I guess you’ve figured out by now that I haven’t gone back to Misty’s. It’s not that I don’t want to. But there are a few things that got in my way:

1. My mom. When I checked in with her, she made me sort my laundry and put it in my drawers. I would much rather poke at a fire or tend—I love that word, tend—to my baby sister, if only I had one. But no. I get stuck folding underwear. 
2. Hunger. I wish I had eaten some cornbread and beans when I had the chance to, but I didn’t, so I had to go make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. 
3. Me being freaked out. Since putting clothes away and eating a sandwich only takes about a second, you might be wondering why it’s been four days and I haven’t gone back. I keep meaning to, but every time I start rolling those stones, I get nervous. I’m gonna do it, though. Believe you me, I’m gonna do it.

 
Yeah, right. 

My notebook is killing me. 

I chuck it up on the bed. 

I keep thinking about me hugging Misty and her baby sister. I swear it, I felt like she was my sister, too. If I close my eyes right now, I can pretend I’m picking green beans with Misty in her garden. Only it’s our garden. And her ma is my ma. I know you’re thinking I’m just wishing it, but you’ve never gone back in time before. When you do, it feels like you belong there.

I’d give anything to see my sisters again. 

But I’m not sure about that traveling thing. It felt weird, me floating around in who-knows-what. I mean, how can I be so sure I’ll get put back together in the right order at the end of the trip? What if my feet end up on my hands, or my head is screwed on backwards? Even worse, what if part of me gets left behind? I can see Stu now, telling Mom he found my butt sitting in front of the TV. 

The more I think about it, the more of a scaredy-cat I become about throwing those stones.

But each day I sit here and do nothing, I turn into a bigger liar than ever. I swore I would go back and do what I could to help. Not that it looks like anybody needs my help, I keep telling myself. Over and over. Unless you count bringing back some twenty-first century powder for Lizbet’s bottom. But no matter how many times I think about everybody all happy in that cabin, I can’t seem to shake this bad feeling I’ve got. 

It takes me almost a week to talk myself into going. I have to go. We’re moving tomorrow, so I’m almost out of time. The problem is, it’s hard to get away from everybody. My mom has a zillion things for me to do, and Stu’s freaking out about the move. He keeps following me around, whining, as if I can do anything about it.

Finally I say, “Come on, people! Can’t a girl get a break around here? I need a minute! Just give me a minute!” I lay that on Stu and Mom at the same time, so they’re both standing there in the kitchen, mouths opening and closing like baby chicks when I go stomping out the back door. 

They know better than to try and stop me.

I go straight to my playhouse, which is where I’ve stashed Misty’s dress. I hurry up and put the dress on, even though I can’t reach all the buttons in the back. I grab the apron, tie it around me. Just putting the dress on makes me feel wobbly, like I’ve already stepped partway into that other time. 

Off I go to the tree. If you’re wondering where the stones are, don’t. They’ve been with me since the day I found them. I even sleep with them under my pillow. 
Right now, I’ve got them in my hand.

I get to the tree, scoop my apron up, and drop the stones in, all at once. When I make up my mind to do something, I just do it. I’m the kind of person who jumps in the pool right away, no matter how cold it is. I’m not going to put my toe in first. 

To me, that’s torture. 

In seconds, I’m back in Misty’s garden. I won’t even tell you about the ride; it makes me feel throw-uppy to think about it. This one was a head buster, so much air was whooshing inside me I thought my ears might fly off. You know how it is when you twirl until you fall down? That’s how it feels. Only, not like that, I just can’t think of any other way to tell you about it. But since I told you I wasn’t going to tell you about it, I’ll shut up.

Everything about the cabin looks the way it did when I left. Smoke’s coming out of the chimney and the windows are dark. The sun is shining—just like it is at home—and the oak tree hasn’t grown an inch. I wonder where Misty is. Maybe they’re all inside, except for Misty’s pa. It’s the middle of the afternoon, so I’m guessing he’ll be out in the field.

Okay, smarty-pants, I say to myself. You’re here. Now what? Do you just go bang on the door? I can see it now: “Hey, Mrs. D., Wazzup? Remember me? Diamond Joy? That weird girl who showed up and stole Misty’s dress? Well, here’s the dress. If you don’t mind, I’ll just take my little boy outfit out of the barn and head on home. Seein’ as all looks just fine here. I’d be most grateful if you didn’t call the sheriff or anything.”

So here I stand, like a statue in Misty’s garden. I don’t know what to do. Then I think about Harriet the Spy. The first thing she would do is snoop around, which I’m pretty good at. I figure I’ll start with the barn, circle back around to the cabin, and then go home. It would be totally fun to talk to Misty, though. Maybe I can work that in. 

Before I do anything, I look up and send out a warning, big and loud: “I want you listen to me, whoever sent those stones. If I don’t find anyone in trouble this time, I’m done. I’m not coming back anymore. I’ve kept my promise. Are you good with that?”

No answer, which is probably good, since I’d pee my pants if a giant voice started talking to me out of nowhere.

It crosses my mind that Harriet probably doesn’t talk to made-up people when she snoops. I glance around—nobody there to hear me, thank God—and make my way through the garden up to the barn. I slide open the door and get a big whiff of—well, you know what a barn smells like. The first thing I see are two horses, each in a stall. Their humongous noses turn my way when I come in. One of them snorts, which makes me jump. It seems weird to me that the horses are in the barn. Shouldn’t they be out in the field with Misty’s pa? 

I wonder why Pa isn’t working.

Anyway, I back out of the barn. The horses look mighty fine to me. Listen to me. I’ve only been here for about a minute and I’m already talking like a pioneer girl. (Emma Jackson would totally diss me if she heard me say “mighty fine.”)

Okie dokie, now a quick peek in the cabin and I’m done. I creep back through the garden and up to the side of the cabin. Good thing the windows aren’t too far off the ground. I don’t even need to tiptoe. I stick my head in one of them. Now that I think about it, Harriet probably wouldn’t have done that. The idea of spying is to make sure no one sees you. 

But nobody does. In fact, it’s dark inside the cabin, and I can barely see them. When my eyes get used to the dark, I see Misty’s mom and Misty. Mrs. Dance is holding baby Lizbet, and Misty’s sitting on a three-legged stool by her mom’s side, a rag in her hand. Misty’s pa and Timmy are at a rickety-looking table by the stove, watching. Pa’s got his elbow on the table, his head on his fist. Timmy’s eyes are wide open, like he’s spooked or something, and one small hand is opening and closing. 

The other is stuck on his face, his mouth sucking like crazy on his thumb.

Misty is crying real soft, but her ma snaps at her.

“Hush, Misty,” she says. “Get some fresh water on your rag.” Misty dips her rag in the bucket on the floor between them, wrings it out and wipes Lizbet’s face all over, her forehead, under her nose, in the creases of her neck. She dips her rag again and wipes Lizbet’s baby hands, her tiny feet.

This is the hardest part for me to tell you. Lizbet isn’t moving. I lower myself to the ground and grab my stomach. I wish I hadn’t seen what I just saw. Lizbet isn’t doing so good, and from the looks of everybody in there, she must be pretty sick. 
So I guess in a way, I was right. There was trouble in Misty’s home. The part I was wrong about was me helping. I’m not a doctor. I’m not even too good at aiming when I put a Band-Aid on. I’m the last person on the planet who would know what to do for a sick baby, no matter what century we’re in. 

I stand up and look back in the window. I guess my head popping up catches Misty’s eye, ‘cuz she looks over at me. She looks sad, the way my fourth-grade teacher looked after her husband died, the kind of sad that stays on your face a long time.

I’m not sure what to do. I feel like a peeping tom, and I’m wishing Misty hadn’t seen me. I’m afraid she’s going to think I’ve come back to help—like I said I would—and she’ll think I can actually do something. 

She drops her rag in the bucket. 

“I need to step outside, Ma. I’ll be right back,” she says, her voice hushed. 

Her ma doesn’t say a word. She just goes on holding Lizbet, not taking her eyes off her baby. She’s wearing her pretty yellow dress again today—the one with the lavender flowers on it—but it doesn’t look as cheery as it did when I first saw it. 
I sit back down again, waiting for Misty to come around the corner of the cabin. I see her, and she signals for me to follow. We walk down the hill to the barn without talking, but when we get inside, Misty slides the door shut and turns to me.

“Diamond Joy!” she cries. “Please tell me you’ve come to help us!”

“I—I—what’s wrong with Lizbet?” I ask, not sure what to say.

“She’s ill.” Misty’s all out of breath, even though she hasn’t been running. “She’s dying. Ma says she won’t last ‘til morning.”

When I hear this, I feel worse than I’ve ever felt in my life. I think of Lizbet, reaching her stubby hands out to me, saying “da da.” She’s about the sweetest baby I ever saw. She can’t be dying, but Misty says she is. And I’ve practically promised I would save her. 

Me and my big mouth. 

“What happened, Misty? What’s wrong with Lizbet?” I ask again.

“She’s very ill. Pa fetched the doctor, and he says she’s got scurvy.”

“Scurvy? What’s that?”

“People get scurvy when they don’t eat oranges. Or lemons or limes. Sailors get it at sea, but babies whose mas can’t feed them get it, too. When Lizbet was born, Ma was in bed for a long time. She couldn’t nurse the baby, so we had to feed Lizbet milk from our goat. And now she’s going to die. She’s going to die.”Misty puts her face in her hands and starts to cry. Her hands are red, her knuckles all flaky and chapped. 

I stand there, not knowing what to do. But after she calms down a little, I ask, “Can’t we go to the store and get some oranges for her?”

Misty shakes her head. “Pa’s been all over Wisconsin looking for oranges. Nobody’s got them; last winter brought such heavy snows. Trains couldn’t get through, and a lot of goods were never delivered, especially food. We hardly scraped together enough wheat and corn to make anything to eat. But oranges? I haven’t seen an orange since we came out west.” 

 “Misty, are you sure this—this scurvy would get better if Lizbet eats oranges?” 
“The doctor says so. But there are no oranges.” 

You can probably tell I’m working on an idea, an ingenious plan that’s showing up in bite-size chunks, coming together the way a puzzle does when you put the last piece in. 

I step in front of Misty and put my nose up so close to hers we’re almost touching. “Misty Dance, you listen to me,” I say. “I’ve got a whole bowl full of oranges sitting on my kitchen counter—honest to God. All I need to do is go back and get them.”

I open my hand and show her the stones. 

“Oh, Diamond Joy!”  

I swear, Misty’s excitement is catching. Now I’m excited, too.  “I just need to go home, get the oranges and come back. We’ll squeeze out the juice and give it to Lizbet. See?”

“Oh!” is all Misty can say.

“I just know this will work! You go back inside with your ma and Lizbet. I’ll bring the oranges around to the front door when I get back.”

“Oh, Diamond—”

“Go on! I need to get going if I’m going to get back here in time.”

“But what about—?”

“What about what?”

“Lizbet’s fate. Should we attempt to change what is meant to pass? And my parents. How will we explain the oranges to them?”

“We won’t need to. If Lizbet gets better, they won’t care where the oranges came from.”

“I am not certain this is the proper order of how things should be. We have already tempted fate enough.”

“Jeez, Misty. Where I come from, you’d totally be a Negative Nellie. You’ve got a problem with everything.”

Misty stands up, like she’s going to do a bossy hands-on-hips thing. But instead, she whispers, “Could you really get back here in time? You will come back, won’t you?”

“Don’t worry,” I say. “I’ll be back.” 

Misty comes at me, and honest to God, I can’t tell if she’s going to shove me or hug me. She doesn’t do either, but instead, grabs my hands in hers, squeezing hard and closing her eyes. “No,” she says, still whispering. “You have to swear it.”

I know that’s a word she’d get in trouble for saying. When she says it, I’m like, like, proud of how much faith she has in me.

“I swear it, Misty,” I say. “I won’t let you down.”

Misty kisses me on the cheek. “Thank you. Oh, thank you,” she says. “I must hurry back inside now. My ma will be looking for me.” 

Before she slips out the door, she turns to me and says, “Godspeed, Diamond Joy. Godspeed.”

Then, she’s gone.

STORY CLUB CHAT TOPICS:
How do you feel about Lizbet being so sick?
What do you think it would be like to live in the 1800's with no grocery stores or doctors offices?
What would you do if you were Diamond? Would you feel confident telling Misty you could help?
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