Part Three
Meger Island
Written by the
Polliwog Pages Rockland Library Students
(Oliver, Dominic, Gabriel, Gloria, Elizabeth, Sena,
Genevieve, Sadie, Jacinta, Evelyn, Eliot)
I left the youngsters still pondering
the empty pond, with their new swimming gear and a thirsty horse, and turned my
truck to the Meger’s Ferry. It only ran twice each day, at 10:00 and 4:00. It
was already 9:30, and I would have to hurry.
Mike Meger owned the little
island off the western coast of New Landia. No one lived there but his family –
his two sons, with their wives and children. They farmed the whole place with
sheep, goats, chickens, and every kind of vegetable you can think of. The
people of Colson City wouldn’t survive without the farms on Meger Island.
Mike and his granddaughter, Katie
Grace, saw me buzzing down the dirt road and waited for me. “We almost left
without you,” said Mike.
“I’m sorry, but there’s
something odd up over at the Winchester Ranch.” I proceeded to tell him about
the empty pond.
Mike’s eyebrows twitched, and
he frowned. “Hmmmm . . . I wonder if it has anything to do with our island
lifting during the night.”
“What?” My mouth dropped
open. “An earthquake?”
Mike rubbed his chin. “Yeah,
something like that. When I came down to the ferry, I thought the tide was
lower than usual, but the dock was pulled from its piling and sitting about a
half foot lower. I’ll show you when he get across the strait.”
“Did you feel anything?” I
asked.
“I didn’t, but Katie Grace
said she heard the animals making noises and felt her bed shaking.”
I looked at the slim young
girl. She was holding a handful of wildflowers and petting a golden retriever. Her
long tanned legs stretched below her cotton dress, and she brushed the soft
grass with her bare feet. She glanced at me, but then turned her face away.
Mike said, “Katie Grace doesn’t say much to strangers.” I nodded. I understood.
I didn’t always feel like talking either.
Liz Meger had a nice hot
lunch for us of fried chicken, corn-on-the-cob, and fresh peas. I always looked
forward to a good home-cooked meal at the Megers’ house.
Mike and I discussed the
mysteries of the day, even the strange clouds around Mt. Terra. It all gave me
the collywobbles. Something wasn’t right. I spent the afternoon with the
family, touring their farms and even playing a little soccer with the kids.
Soon it was time for Mike to run the ferry back to mainland to pick those who
had been at work or school in the city all day.
Just before I drove my truck
off the boat, Mike leaned close to my window. “If there’s ever any danger on the
mainland, you come over here with us, you hear?”
I nodded. “I will. Thanks,
Mike.”
(to be continued)
If you are between the ages of 4-12,
(or know someone who likes to write stories)
I would like to post your story here.
Send me an email. I'd love to read your story!
Signed,
Wiggles the Polliwog
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