Annie was pretty sure he was paying for the care her mother was receiving in Boston, too. Their health insurance was good, but it wasn’t that good.
“So what is it I can do for you, Mr. Somerville?”
“Well, Mr. Hollis, I’m talking to as many people as I can around town who were here back when the ship came down.”
“Yes, so you told Missie. I’m happy to talk about that, but you know, I’ve told these stories a hundred times. If you’ve done your homework, you already know I didn’t see it happen. Wish I had! I’m a restless sleeper.”
“He’s trying a new angle,” Annie said.
“Oh, is that so? Well good, I’m tired of my own stories.”
“The people who’ve been around as long as we have…” Annie caught herself, because she realized she was about to compare life stories with a man who had almost fifty years on her. “I mean, those of us here since the ship landed, how we never left… The idea is, maybe we have a better perspective on…”
“On anything new,” Ed said, finishing the thought. “Anything you may have noticed that’s different. Ear-to-the-ground stuff. Annie says you like to keep well-connected.”
“Anything at all? That’s a pretty broad question, Mr. Somerville. Annie, is this a fishing expedition?”
“Kind of. But this time’s different.”
More than one reporter had blown through town looking for a tiny thing to exaggerate up into a huge story that ended up not being true. This was how it was reported, a year earlier, that birth rates had fallen in town because the ship was making everyone sterile. Another time, no lesser entity than the New York Times claimed the residents didn’t celebrate Halloween, and the cars in Sorrow Falls no longer required gas.
“How’s it different?”
“Because something’s actually happening this time, Desmond.”
Ed shot her a panicked look, which she ignored.
“Well all right, that’s new,” Desmond said. “What is it that’s happening?”
“Why don’t you tell us first, and Ed here will tell you what he can.”
“I actually can’t…”
“Just what you can, Ed, don’t have an attack.”
Desmond fixed her with a long stare. “Don’t be mad at her, Mr. Somerville, she’s more shrewd than all of us combined. She knows I knew you weren’t a reporter before you even walked in. Now she’s playing my curiosity against me.”
“That’s why I’m here,” she said. “So have you noticed anything, Desmond?”
“Broad question, young lady, as I said.”
“But you have.”
He shrugged.
“Maybe. Productivity’s been down a lot lately.”
“That’s a cyclical thing, isn’t it?” Ed asked.
“It can be. Middle of summer, people are on vacation in their heads already, sure. We still use a punch clock around here, did you know that? It’s computerized, but it’s still a punch clock. People come to work, punch in to record their arrival time, then hit the floor and get to work, or hit the break room and start their coffee. We’re not real strict about most details because by now, people know how to do their jobs and we expect them to answer to themselves about it. Just the same, I know what time every one of my mill employees checks in, and I know when each of them is supposed to check in. What I’m seeing is, in the past six weeks, people are punching in late by an average of six minutes.”
“That’s unusual?”
“Compared to any other time of year, it is. Average is two minutes early all except during winter storms. They’re coming in late, they’re not sleeping well, and they’re groggy half the day. If it was one or two folks, I’d maybe sit them down, ask if everything was okay at home. But it’s everyone. We’re also seeing a lot of people down with the late-season cold everyone seems to catch toward the end of summer, but that’s an annual thing. You probably want real numbers.”
“I… sure, whatever you think you can share.”
Desmond awakened his desktop computer with a wiggle of the mouse and began tapping away at it. “I can give you numbers, I just need to strip the employee information off the sheets. Probably all of this is confidential, but what the hell, I own the place.”
“That’s great.”
“It’ll give you an idea of what we’re looking at over here. It’s not much but it’s something. Reminds me of farm animals before storms, to be honest. Those of us around long enough to be attuned to the changes in the atmosphere know something’s coming.”
“I think you’re probably right,” Ed said. “But what’s coming?”
“Unless I miss my guess, that’s what you’re here to answer, Mr. Somerville. Now give me a few minutes and I’ll run this to Missie’s printer. Annie, has the man seen the drum? Show the man the drum.”
Desmond’s gaze, and all his attention, went to the computer screen. He was two-finger typing, so this was likely going to take a few minutes.
Annie walked Ed over to the display with the drum.
A plaque was on the podium, describing it as the actual drum of the five tribes. So far as the Hollis clan was concerned, there was no dispute regarding whether this was the real thing or a replica.
“He’s being awfully helpful,” Ed whispered.
“Of course he is. He’s as curious as anyone. I bet he’s been wondering about those numbers for days.”
The window behind the drum faced the river, which was a view a lot more interesting, to Annie, than the one in the display case. The sky had clouded up over the course of the afternoon, and now they were looking at what could be a rain shower rolling in from the east. Sunset wasn’t for another two hours, but it already looked dark out.
“This isn’t the real thing, is it?”
“What?” She got lost in the weather for a second. “The drum?”
“Yes, the drum. It’s much too small.”
“Could be.”
She could see it, not resting in a case but in a recess in the stump.
When people talked about the stump what they thought of was the kind of dead tree stump of the current times, a flattened base making a tiny stage just above the earth, but the real thing was wide and as tall as a man. The tree, when it existed, was enormous and ancient, maybe the oldest thing in the valley before it fell. The drum fit in a knot that was eye-level.
The snow was deep that day, when the tribes rode to the stump. The wind blew hard over the river, the clouds were thundering, and the piles of white held everything down, including sound and warmth. It was unwise to go anywhere as long as the gods were raging like this, but still they went, because the drum called them, and they had to answer it.
The little pale man curled up in the stump with the drum was not what anyone expected. One of them mistook him for a tree god and nearly bolted in fear. When the little man spoke he used words none of them knew.
But then a little girl stepped forward.
“Annie.”
Annie shook her head, and the room spun a tiny bit more than it was supposed to. Ed had her by the shoulder.
“Hey,” he said. “You okay? Where’d you go?”
“What?”
“I was talking to you and you just sort of checked out, are you all right?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine, sorry. What were you saying?”
“It doesn’t matter. You’re probably tired; it’s been a long day. I should get you back.”
“No, I’m okay.”
It had actually been a very long and largely fruitless day. With only the Desmond interview officially on a calendar that was supposed to be much more full, she and Ed ended up walking the length of Main, popping into stores along the way both to speak with long-time residents so Ed could ask his usual reporter-ish questions (a new one was whether anyone had been sick recently, since he seemed to think this was relevant) and to get out of the heat and into some air conditioning.