The Call of the Earth

The sound of an airbrake drew me to the front window. I pulled the lace curtain aside. At the far end of the long gravel drive, a Connor & Sons 18-wheeler shone in the yellow glow of the tall yard light. I watched as the burly man with the ZZ Top beard dropped from the driver’s side of the cab, walked around the front, and opened the passenger door. He reached in and withdrew a backpack. With the other hand, he helped a short figure navigate the long step from the running board to the ground. I couldn’t tell from the clothes, jeans and a baggy shirt with the hood pulled up, if the passenger was a boy or a girl.

The child gazed up at the man as he spoke, then looked about, turning in a slow circle.

Pointing at the house, the driver made a shooing motion toward it. The passenger looked up at him for a long moment, took the backpack he held out, and turned toward the house.

I opened the front door, which triggered the overhead lights, and stood on the wide porch. It didn’t happen often, but it was not unknown for the occasional youngster to freeze or run in the opposite direction. The driver and I waved at each other as he returned to the cab. Chester was a good man, an AE, an adult experiencer, great with kids, and not afraid to deliver them from evil, even if it meant driving his rig halfway across the country to Goshen County, Wyoming.

All over the country, people like Chester helped “damaged” children disappear from their homes, schools, institutions, the street—wherever they suffered from neglect, abuse, and abandonment. In some cases, healthy kids lived in facilities, their divergent behavior mistakenly diagnosed as mental illness.

Worse, the government was taking an interest now. A covert experiencer inside Homeland Security warned of quiet plans to conduct “collections,” experimentation and … containment.

Innocent children confined in secret facilities, at the mercy of unscrupulous, government-funded researchers. Not an option.

But the kids received instructions in unusual ways, help from unexpected sources. Aided and spirited away by AEs, the children arrived at safe houses scattered throughout the United States, operated by house mothers, AEs like me.

Other countries operated similar underground networks. Collaboration was careful, secretive, and necessary. Some kids were not safe in their country of origin.

As I stared into the twilight, the ancient oak tree near the house rustled, breaking into my thoughts. Our new guest was a girl. I called out to her. “Hello, Emily.”

She stood several feet from the porch and stared at me. “How do you know my name?”

I smiled and nodded at the tree. “Grandfather told me.”

Her eyes widened, and her mouth opened. “Really?” The question was breathless.

“Yes, really. I’m Deme. Do you want to come in? You probably have lots of questions.”

***

In the living room, I parked her on the sofa, her pack beside her. A transformation occurred when she pushed her hood back. She looked the perfect gamine—red hair, clear green eyes, a flick of freckles over the bridge of her nose.

“Are you hungry? Would you like something to drink?”

She shook her head. “Chester bought me grilled cheese.” Her cheeks grew rosy. “But thank you. I should have said that. Sorry.” She shrank into herself, shoulders hunched on either side of her ears.

Sighing to myself at the protective move, I sat next to her, but not too close. “Since you’re here at Homestead House, I’m guessing you’ve had some experiences you can’t explain.”

She nodded and looked down at her lap.

“You probably tried to tell people what was happening, but they didn’t believe you.”

She nodded again, still looking down.

“You can tell me what’s going on. I promise I’ll believe you.”

She looked up. “Why? My best friend doesn’t.”

“But I will. Because all the children who live here are special. Different. They all have unique abilities.”

She sat up straight and looked around the room. “Other kids are here?”

“Not at this moment. Tracker took them into Hawk Springs for ice cream. I wanted us to have time to talk by ourselves.”

“Oh.” Her shoulders slumped. “What’s a tracker?”

“He’s a who, not a what. He’s my husband. The family will be very excited to meet you tonight. How old are you, Emily?”

“I’m ten.”

“Perfect. Sadie and Eva will be happy to meet you. They turned ten last week.”

“Are they twins?”

“They are. So, how old were you when you started hearing voices?”

“I don’t know. I don’t remember not hearing them.”

“What kinds of things speak to you?”

 “Rocks, water, trees, bugs, birds…”

“What do they tell you?”

“Sometimes they send pictures or feelings into my head. They used to show me stories about the old days. Like watching a movie in my head.”

“What do they tell you now?”

“That they need help. They keep calling for help.” Tears rolled down her cheeks. “They show me what happens in the future. It’s all burned and brown. I don’t know what to do. My foster mom said there’s something wrong with me—that my brain is sick.”

I leaned toward her. “What do you believe?”

She frowned, defiant, her voice rising. “I’m not sick. I’m not. The Earth is sick. She keeps crying and crying. I don’t know what to do.” The last sentence was a wail.

I held my arms out to her. She leaned into me and hugged me hard, body taut and shaking.

“I’m sorry you’re going through this, Emily.” I pulled back to look her in the eye. “Long ago, all people heard the call of the Earth. Our ancestors knew her as a living being, knew every animal, plant, each mountain, was aware of its own being. They still live, still speak, but most people can’t hear them anymore.”

Emily snuffled and blinked tears from her eyes. “What can we do?”

“We’re working on that. I promise. More and more kids hear Earth, now, just like you. They love her, want to protect her. That’s why the Great Mother called you here to Homestead House. So we can all be safe, all listen and work together. Would you like to meet Grandfather?”

She nodded. I took her hand, helped her up and out the door.

We stepped off the porch and walked toward the ancient oak.

She gasped, eyes wide.

Grandfather’s greeting echoed in my head. “Welcome, Emily. You are loved.”