Stone Maidens by Lloyd Devereux Richards Page A

Claremont’s raspy voice intruded. “You coming?”
    A flutter came from high above in the old barn’s rafters, where an owl was napping. His father’s voice had disturbed it. Davidvigorously ran the ribbed steel file back and forth between his fingers, not having to look. He knew from feel how much stone to remove. He had nearly finished another piece.
    His father shuffled over the straw-covered floorboards toward David’s hobby-room door.
    “David? Did you hear me, son? Your mother’s set to go.”
    “I’ll be right there.” David held the stone up to the workbench light—a lovely translucent purple amethyst he’d unearthed from a nearby gravel pit.
    “Come on, son. Her blood sugar’s on the fritz. You know that.” The old man slapped a barn post. “If we don’t get going to Beltson’s right this minute, she’ll be off the backseat after those blasted orange-slice candies she keeps hidden in the kitchen.”
    David placed the carved stone on the workroom shelf, flipped off the light switch, and followed his father out to the double-cab pickup idling in the turnaround drive. His mother was fidgeting in the backseat, waving them on.
    The road looked practically desolate. Lawrence stared out his side window over a great expanse of corn that reached to the horizon. The sun broke free of a low-lying cloud layer. Angling shafts of sunlight struck the windshield.
    “Damn!” The old man scowled. “Flip your visor over, will you, son?”
    David heeded his father, but a minute later blazing sunlight had found Lawrence’s face again. Hilda hunched forward, tidying her son’s collar.
    “Now remember, David,” she spoke close to his ear. “If they ask you anything in the serving line about how you’re doing, always remember to smile. It’s the courteous thing to do. Even if they don’t seem pleasant.” This last was in reference to the fact that everyone in town knew he was having “trouble” and needed to go see a head doctor for it.
    “You needn’t answer them if you don’t want,” she added. “No one expects you to carry on a conversation.” She patted his shoulder like a corner coach in a boxing match between rounds.
    No one expects a crazy person to be able to do anything right. That was what his mother was thinking but hadn’t said. David turned his head sideways to acknowledge her, catching sight of the crease of concern between her eyebrows. Mostly, she was completely foreign to him, doting in ways he couldn’t really understand.
    “Don’t let them bother you. You’re only looking to eat dinner like everyone else.” She folded her arms across her large midriff. “Don’t mind the looks. There’s always going to be some spoilsport trying to get a rise.” She meant that everyone in town would be thinking,
There goes the crazy man who collapsed on the pie-contest table at the Fourth of July farm show
.
    “Oh, Hildy, don’t get the boy all wrought up!” Lawrence put in. “The bastards can whisper all they want to. The boy’s done nothing wrong. Besides, he’s seeing that doctor.”
    Lawrence’s heavy hand came down on David’s thigh. “After dinner we’ll get back in plenty of time to finish chores, son. Probably be enough time to get back to that carving of yours, too.”
    More of Weaversville appeared: a hodgepodge of sundry stores, an auto parts place. David’s chest heaved under his Windbreaker. The struggle to keep his anxiety in check worsened at the sight of downtown. Beltson’s Cafeteria was in the middle of an old block of brick-fronted buildings that showed their waterlines from the flooding of previous years. It was a pick-and-choose buffet-style restaurant, his mother’s favorite.
    As they approached the restaurant, itchy heat built under David’s collar. His hands began to jitter. The ringing in his ears intensified.
    His father parked on an angle, bumping the curbstone gently. Hilda shoved against the back of David’s seat, wanting out.
    “Come on, come