The Coming of the Stonewalls

By Bernadette Richards

When life couldn't seem more normal and boring, do you dream of something more?Rose Brennan did. She longed for a life beyond her humdrum reality. She wished for a special someone who cared about her, enough to share her hopes and fears. Those were her beloved daydreams. Until now…What if you were cast into a land where fairy tales seem to come true? A land cursed by an ancient evil, where a throne must be fought for? A land fraught with peril, a land of prophecies unfulfilled? And a land where you are long expected. What would you do?And what if there was someone, just where you least expected, who knows the answer to it all?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Mar 16, 2021
• ISBN: 9781098063009

Book preview

Chapter 1

Cops and Robbers

The pathway through the trees was hushed. Confused shouts could be heard some distance away, but in that particular spot, all nature waited in anticipative silence.

The long-stemmed flowers and the summer blossoms on the trees above danced and swayed in the hot breeze. Birds in the branches hushed their song, and listened. Lizards sunning themselves on the rocks raised their heads. They knew that more was afoot in their secluded paradise than the ever-flowing tide of nature.

The gravel pathway wound through the midst of the trees, as a sign of civilization and human occupation within such pastoral finery. The very air tingled, as though every molecule of earth and sky, grown so accustomed to the ordinary life around it, was now made suddenly aware of an all-important, long-prophesied coming.

The sound of footsteps broke the stillness. Swift, frantic, fleeing steps were now approaching the still spot. It was a sound known well enough to that honored path, and the trees, with their long practice of watching and listening, could easily have recognized the owner of the steps. Another moment of waiting, and the intruder was upon them.

A little boy, about nine years old, with yellow hair, snapping blue eyes, and a merry young face, came dashing down the little gravel pathway. Into the peaceful stillness he dashed, a look on his face that spoke of intense excitement and exhilarating terror. He halted a moment, sliding a little on the loose pebbles, and glanced back over his shoulder.

Almost at once there appeared another boy, slightly older than he, who came leaping through the foliage, murder in his eye. With a playful little growl, which could have been styled a shriek by a less respectful critic, the young refugee took to his heels again. He quickly spanned the length of the awaiting trees, and ran on.

At the end of the quiet glade, there loomed suddenly before him a tall wooden fence, which separated the large orchard from the cares and dangers of the outside world. It seemed the lad was expecting this roadblock; he had made such a flight ofttimes before, for he turned quickly and scrambled up a steep embankment that lay to his right. It was supplemented at intervals by helpful wooden steps, yet these he ignored for the most part, in his haste, pulling into play the full capacities of knees, hands, and elbows.

The bank led up onto a higher level of the spacious orchard, where the wild world below seemed brought to a closer unity with the influence of man.

Near the corner of the bank whence the lad had come, there stood a large barn, which had once been used for livestock and the usual farming accoutrements, but had fallen into little use with the coming of modern times. Along the length of this barn, the gravel path continued its course, and went trailing off through this higher plateau of the orchard.

The fleeing child ignored the continuing path as he scrambled to his feet at the top of the bank and dashed instead to the rear corner of the barn. He ran down its width and slipped behind the old structure.

There was a thin alley along this farther broadside, confined by the barn wall on one side, and a thick grove of apple trees on the other. The boy flattened himself against the red boards of the wall, and tried to catch his breath quietly, as he listened for sounds of the pursuit.

After another moment, he heard the enemy clambering up the bank.

The elder boy was slightly more graceful than his quarry and made more use of the wooden steps in his ascent. He halted as he gained the top of the bank and glanced round. All was still on every side. The pursuer ran a hand through his sandy locks and raised a sleeve to wipe a runny nose. Then taking a fresh breath, he ran on down the gravel path that lay before him.

His would-be victim behind the barn breathed a sigh of relief as he caught the sounds of the predator’s departure, and smiled to himself, in silent applause of the escape.

Hi, Hank! How’s the world? asked a sudden voice, close beside him.

The boy nearly jumped out of his skin and spun round to find a little girl standing along the wall at his side.

She was his own age by all appearances; a ruddy little nymph who had graced the downtrodden earth for less than a decade. She was quite mundanely familiar to him, and to all their surroundings, but on that day, a tremor ran through the trees below at the sound of her voice.

Her hair was an ordinary brown, somewhat disheveled at present. Her eyes were large and blue. She was not exceptionally pretty, but her face was engaging enough to give a type of charm to such a matter-of-fact ordinariness. Not yet was her appearance worthy of special notice, and neither was her fate, as far as anyone could tell. Yet, how little mankind sometimes sees.

She had come down behind the barn from the opposite direction just before the little fugitive and so seen his arrival. She addressed him with the utmost familiarity, and also with the air of one utterly aware of his perilous situation. Indeed, she at present appeared quite as hot and weary as he felt himself.

Oh, hello, Rose, whispered Hank in return, wary still about their safety. What’s up? Did you shake your big sister off your tail?

Yes, said Rose. But it kept me down among the orange trees for a while, and I’m a little out of touch now. How are we doing?

Not too well, said Hank. I think we should try a jailbreak.

Right now? asked Rose doubtfully. Who’s in Jail?

Kate and Mick and Bridey, said Hank, counting on his fingers as he rattled off the names, and Carrie.

Carrie, murmured Rose, biting her lip in agitation. Carrie was her nearest and dearest friend.

It was a warm Tuesday afternoon, in a beautiful belt of hidden countryside in Northern California. The orchard where the children stood was the property of a large farmhouse, where lived Rose Brennan (the miss of the ordinary face) and her little family. Both house and orchard were accustomed to more than their share of riotous activity, and the present state of affairs was no exception. For a game of Cops and Robbers was in full swing.

Altogether, there were thirteen children roaming wild within the intricate bounds of the orchard. Many were kin, scarcely any were the same age, and all were mightily invested in the game at hand, for even if it was the Brennan family to whom the orchard belonged, at the moment, the supreme power and authority therein were the three feared children that were the Cops.

So vital was this game in the minds of our characters that if the reader is unacquainted with the rules of Cops and Robbers (which would be very unfortunate), it will serve to instruct him before continuing.

The game is played by the Cops always chasing the Robbers. When a Cop catches someone, he is taken back to the spot designated as Jail.

The captured Robber then has to remain in Jail until a fellow Robber will risk his own safety by trying to rescue his comrade. This rescue consists of the free Robber touching the jailed one, without getting caught by the Cop on guard.

If he does get caught, the tagged Robber receives freedom to leave, but the rescuer is put in prison. Of course, if the rescuer is quick enough, he may tag his comrade, and escape completely. This rescuing business can be rather taxing on the nerves, especially if there are a good many people held in Jail.

Now to these basic rules, the subjects of our story had added and embellished, until the game was uniquely their own.

There were terms such as jailbreak, which meant all free Robbers attacking Jail at once, or scramble, which meant every man was to make as much noise and cause as much damage as he is able, for no particular reason. These expressions were utterly familiar to every child in the orchard and, as it happened, to most of their parents as well.

The youngsters themselves were raised and schooled in happy, average homes, as neighbors to each other since the dawn of their young lives, and as friends closer than family.

There were four different families, when separated each by their own last name, but when together, it was often hard for strangers to differ friends from siblings, and the children themselves disregarded such boundaries entirely. Yet, for the sake of introduction and to prevent confusion—as the entire crowd of them had usually an overwhelming and almost terrifying effect on outsiders—we shall make use of the helpful family segregations, for the moment.

The Brennans were the smallest family. Rose had only one sister, older than she by several years. Mrs. Brennan was a widow and raised her two girls alone, for her husband had died when Rose was only an infant.

The Hogan family seems of next importance, and they had four children: three boys in a row and the youngest, a little girl. The reader has already made the acquaintance of Hank Hogan, hiding behind the barn, and he may be neatly categorized as the middle brother of the three Hogan boys, though some would say that in reality it would be impossible to keep Hank neat or categorize him in any sort of order.

The Pearce family follows next. Here there were also four children in number, beginning with a jolly and intelligent big brother, the second child another boy, and then two girls, these latter two differing from each other as night differs from day.

The fourth family, the Mitchells, had three children: Carrie (Rose’s best friend) and a pair of twins named Tom and Kate, whom Carrie referred to as her TomKat. The Mitchells lived next door to the Brennans, while the Pearce family lived down behind the orchard and across a field, and the Hogans lived just a few houses up from that.

In that particular region of fertile countryside, the hills were high and loftily picturesque, and the chateau-style farmhouses of their neighborhood were perched in among the peaks, granting many of the homes a sweeping view of the lands beyond.

Of the parents of these families, it was Mrs. Brennan who took the lead in most matters concerning the children, and perhaps it was she who had, long ago, brought them all together in the first place. She was a resourceful woman: a freelance architect who worked from within her home, and who had managed to keep up their spacious property and provide her daughters with all the true necessities of happiness after her husband’s untimely death.

Throughout her children’s budding years, she had schooled them faithfully at home and, somewhere in the midst of a bustling life, had still found time to arrange for every outing, party, club, endeavor, and performance that the youngsters might desire. It soon became the case then that any pastime begun by one family spread to the others, as by a bond of inseparable companionship.

Yet there was nothing, however grand or however new, in the minds of the children themselves that could stand to rival the hair-raising, breathtaking game of Cops and Robbers.

The Brennans’ orchard was a veritable child’s paradise. It spread across quite a span of open land and boasted several different levels because of its location in among the sloping hills. Within its tall fences, it held many a winding path, an abundance of thick foliage to use for concealment, twisting lanes that wound through the groves of fruit trees, the old red barn on the north side, and finally, as the crowning jewel, a large stone patio in the center of the midmost level, which sufficed beautifully for Jail.

It is quite unnecessary to say that these games were of the utmost seriousness to the youngsters, yet oftentimes such feelings of gravity displayed themselves as the catalysts of a good many fights.

The biggest point of dispute, and one that inevitably had to be addressed at the beginning of every game, was the choice of the infamous Cops. All the younger children felt it was stooping to the worst form of traitor to join the ranks of the enemies and be compelled to pursue their own comrades. Just as the children were as close as siblings in all things pleasant, so too, they didn’t hesitate to fight like siblings as well, and at times, the arguments grew quite heated.

Thus, in the hopes of lessening such pregame battles, a fixed routine had been worked out by the Older Kids, that Nieve Brennan (Rose’s older sister) and Keith Pearce were to always be the Cops, though they were sometimes joined by a less passionate Little Kid.

That was why Hank Hogan was hiding behind the barn with Rose Brennan, while Keith Pearce, the law-abiding Cop, went tearing down the gravel path and through the trees in a fruitless pursuit.

Say, who’s guarding Jail, if Keith is on the prowl too? Nieve didn’t seem in any hurry to get back there, asked Rose, listening to the receding sounds of danger.

Jennie is jail guard, panted Hank. Remember, she’s a Cop for this round.

Right, nodded Rose regretfully. She’s one of the few who will dement when hard-pressed to it.

I believe Rose meant defect, though her limited vocabulary put a temporary damper on her grim statement. Jennie Pearce, the defector in question, was a sweet and somewhat timid girl, and in her defense, she was a pacifist who would at times rather betray her fellow zealots than sit through the usual dispute over who had to join the Cops.

Well, said Hank, after a moment of silent strategizing, I still say we should try for a jailbreak, or maybe we just need—

He was halted then by a sudden chorus of wailing and youthful lamentation that came to their apprehensive ears from the direction of Jail. The disturbing clamor would have been impossible for any outsider to understand, but the two young generals behind the barn deciphered its meaning at once.

Oh no, murmured Rose. One of the Big Boys is caught.

Hank bowed his military head, in grim acceptance of the devastating blow.

Neither the trials of a nation’s leader on the eve of war nor the thoughts of an astrophysicist at his insoluble labors can compare to the weight and intensity of the burdens that beset a child in the midst of a good game of Cops and Robbers.

The two Big Boys in question were Luke Pearce and Jim Hogan, who boasted the grand old ages of thirteen (and three quarters) and fourteen years old, whence came the term Big.

They were the eldest of the gang and by far the largest and most athletic. Because of their superior prowess, they were rarely allowed to be Cops (as they could have caught everybody with little effort), and thus they were the hope and heroes of the Robbers. No one could attempt such daring jailbreaks as they, and so when one or both of them were finally caught and imprisoned, it was truly tragic for the war effort.

This time, out of the wailings and howling that the prisoners in Jail sent up to the heavens as one of their invincible comrades was herded in, the name of Luke was vaguely distinguishable, and it wasn’t hard to tell which of the champions had been felled.

"We’ve got to keep Jim free, declared Rose empathically. If something happens to him, we won’t be able to make a jailbreak, and we’ll be the only ones left, and then everything will be lost!"

Rose had more than military reasoning behind her fears. In her romantic, youthful mind, there was no one in the world to equal the Great Jim Hogan. Jim was still the ideal Grown Man, as far as Rose was concerned. Long ago he had become her adopted hero, and as he was graced with the rugged good looks that only a thirteen-year-old champion can boast, he truly made a glorious object for her admiration.

It was just at that moment that the two children heard sounds of another approaching fugitive.

They crept to the corner of the barn and peeked out cautiously down towards the bank whence Hank had come.

All was still for a moment, and then they suddenly beheld the gallant Jim himself. He leapt up the bank and fled on down the pathway on the other side of the barn, never once glancing their way, for it seemed doom was at his heels. Even as he vanished from their limited sight, Keith Pearce, the dreaded Cop, came pounding after him, hot on the scent and the light of victor kindled in his eyes.

Hank and Rose involuntarily swept back round the corner, though they knew from much experience that a Cop who was that near to catching a Big Boy would never turn aside to such little game as they. Hank whisked himself farther out of sight, pulling Rose along, his heart heavy but resigned. If his stalwart elder brother was to meet an untimely end, it was regrettable, yet now unavoidable.

Rose, however, shared not his sentiments.

Seeing her invincible and beloved Jim in such desperate straits, she threw prudence to the four winds and did something that would alter the course of her life and the lives of all she held dear until the day they died.

Pulling away from Hank’s protecting hand, she flung herself out from behind the barn, skidding out onto the perilous pathway and right into the arms of Keith Pearce.

The astonished Keith almost tripped and fell on top of her, so sudden had her appearance been, and his astonishment was only destined to increase. For the determined little girl took him by the shoulders and pushed him backwards with all her might and vigor, glaring up at him with an expression enough to curdle new milk.

She backed him up all the way to the near orchard fence, and there gave him one extra push to flatten him against the sturdy wooden rails.

You leave him alone! she cried ferociously. You big ugly Cop!

Keith looked down at Rose with wide, solemn eyes. Then, slowly, he removed her hands from his chest, took a military hold on her wrist, raised his eyebrows impressively, and said with much dignity, You are my prisoner.

Rose shut her open mouth with a snap. She hadn’t thought of that. In her ardent desire to aid Jim (who had long ago disappeared down the path), she hadn’t reflected upon the sacrifice she offered. Yet it was too late to change matters now, and being determined to show Keith that she was a true man of war (or little girl of war, as the case may be), she tossed her proud young head and met his triumph with equal dignity.

So be it, she said.

As the still slightly disgruntled Keith led her down the fateful path to her imprisonment, Rose glanced back to where she had left Hank. The corner by the barn was deserted, and Hank, who had been just as taken by surprise at Rose’s valiant actions as she had been herself, had disappeared.

When Rose and her captor came within sight of Jail, the inmates therein sent up another chorus of despairing lamentations. Rose felt quite gratified to see that her capture was apparently as disastrous to the foot soldiers as that of one of the Big Boys.

Jail was a bleak sight for a Robber. The few pieces of patio furniture that had survived the countless rough games of Cops and Robbers were crowded with desolate prisoners. The Great Luke Pearce sat wearily on the patio floor, inspecting a scraped and bloodied elbow that he’d acquired during his last escape. Jennie, the renegade Little Kid acting as Cop, had been sent off in a pursuit while Nieve remained to be the jail guard, and she was now pacing back and forth along the patio’s edge, awaiting new arrivals.

Nieve was several years older than Rose and hardly resembled her younger sister at all. She was far prettier than Rose, her hair a ginger red and her eyes green, and on the whole, she was generally better-natured than her passionate sister. She was quite as old as the Big Boys themselves, which could have entitled her to a matriarchal authority in their youthful society, yet she was esteemed simply for being jolly and kind, and to all outside appearances, she often seemed no older than Rose. The two girls loved each other without limit, as could be seen from their usual behavior, but when on the gory, callous field of the Cops and Robbers battles, their duties sundered them apart, and they remained unmovable foes until the end of each game.

Rose set foot upon the wretched bounds of Jail, and at once, a pretty little brown-haired girl leapt to her feet, displaying her grief in an expression of utter despair. It was Carrie Mitchell, the dearest of all Rose’s friends and most loyal of all her companions.

Rose! she cried. Oh, Rose, are you caught too?

Keith had released his captive on the patio, and Rose flew into the arms of the other girl, who embraced her.

Carrie, my best friend, cried Rose, Hank told me you were caught, and I was about to come for you.

Another little girl, brown-haired, freckled of face, and wearing a thick pair of glasses, approached at this juncture to offer her sympathy and, more truthfully, her blunt opinion. She was Carrie’s sister, Kate, the younger of the Mitchell twins (younger by three and a half minutes, as her brother, Tom, always proclaimed), and she was the Kat portion of the TomKat. She was as frank as Carrie was naive.

How’d you get caught? asked Kate, with characteristic bluntness. Did you trip and fall down or something, or did Keith bottle you up somewhere? Kate spoke from many a hard-earned experience.

Yet Rose raised her chin in reply and gazed dramatically over the lower levels of orchard and off into the setting sun, her expression noble and grim.

I sacrificed my own life, she said, that Jim might go free.

Her words produced a satisfactory effect on all present. Rose was at once the hero of the hour. Even Nieve, the unfeeling Cop, glanced at Keith in questioning surprise. He nodded and shrugged, rubbing his shoulder somewhat ruefully. Then Nieve too glanced at her little sister with due respect.

I just hope, continued Rose, more honestly, as she sank down onto the arm of an already occupied chair, that it wasn’t a mistake. There aren’t many of us left.

On the further side of the patio, a little girl, who had been sitting in one of the chairs with manifest expressions of boredom, now stirred restlessly.

The child could not have been more than four years old, and she was strikingly beautiful. Her golden locks in their gentle curls framed a face of angelic beauty, while under her golden bangs, two orbs of blue reflected the summer skies.

Now she wiggled herself to the edge of her chair and dropped off onto the ground with an air of unmoved serenity. Ignoring all around her, she calmly walked herself out of Jail with very meditated, well-practiced steps, each of about five inches in length.

Nieve turned and glanced down at the beautiful child as she cleared the patio boundaries and continued her studied sojourn without hesitation.

Clump, where are you going? asked Nieve.

For though it was a sad mystery to the outside world, the little cherub’s name was Clump. Her real name was Catherine Lucy Ursula Marie Pearce, and all those lovely names fitted her appearance beautifully. Yet to all who knew her, the initials of her name, Clump, had proved a more adequate title, and she had long since been irrevocably renamed, until scarcely anyone, herself included, remembered what her true name was.

At Nieve’s question, the little beauty turned around.

I’m weaving, she said coolly.

You can’t leave, Clump, said Nieve with a grin. This is Jail. Come back and sit down.

I do not wike Jail, observed Clump, with much fourth-year dignity.

That doesn’t matter, you have to stay. If you go back out there, you’ll just get run over again, said Nieve, and since this is your ninth escape attempt within the past fifteen minutes, I should hope you’re getting worn out. Come here, you little jailbird.

She stepped out, scooped Clump up, and returned the little jailbird to her chair. Clump complied resignedly, but regarded Nieve with a solemn expression. She looked disapprovingly up at her as she was reseated and cast the full charms of her infantile beauty upon her.

You are evil, she said sternly, blinking her long lashes in slow succession.

Nieve laughed. Thanks, Clump. You too.

Rose and her companions had watched the interchange with scant interest. Rose was staring soberly into space, and nothing that Clump or Nieve could do was original enough to arouse her attention. Carrie sat at Rose’s feet, a sympathetic expression in her brown eyes that gave her a striking resemblance to a loyal hound dog, looking upon its mournful master.

I wonder if we’re gonna lose the war, Rose murmured tragically, with a sigh that seemed to emerge from her very toes. It seems to happen so often now.

At that instant, there was a sudden clamor towards the back of Jail. Keith the Cop, having rested himself for a moment, had jogged off into the far reaches of the orchard, in search of more prisoners, and Nieve was the sole Cop on the scene.

Rose and her fellow inmates turned quickly when the sudden excitement broke loose, and they were amazed and overjoyed to see Jim and Hank, and Kate’s wild twin brother, Tom, all inside Jail, tagging prisoners free right and left.

Nieve gave a shout to alert her fellow Cops and ran at Jim. He dodged aside and, after tagging two more Little Kids (and accidentally knocking one down and stepping on him), made his escape through the bushes. Tom and Hank followed his example with equal success, and by the time Keith and Jennie had arrived breathless on the scene, there was not a Robber in Jail who was not entitled to a free walk out, and the three rescuers were nowhere in sight.

The Robbers immediately began scattering in every direction with whoops and hollers of joy. Jennie sank into a chair glumly, and Keith and Nieve began hollering at each other over their loss, as is the custom for post-jailbreak Cops.

Through the midst of the confused exodus, Rose, dragging the obedient Carrie behind her, went dexterously down through the thickest bushes, in search of their three liberators. She found them in a hidden corner under the deepest foliage, still congratulating each other on their job well done.

When Rose and Carrie pushed through the branches, they were greeted with joyous whispers. They immediately sat down on the ground to have a war council. Jim remained, though it was not customary for a Big Boy to attend such a gathering, for he appreciated the moment of rest and the use of their hiding place.

Boy, that was some jailbreak, wasn’t it? grinned Tom Mitchell.

How’d you swing it? asked Rose.

It was really your doing, explained Hank. When you went nutty and gave yourself up, and while Keith was taking you away, Jim showed up behind the barn, and we planned an instant attack, while they were still all busy over bringing you in. It worked great!

By the way, Rose, said Jim, flashing the gaze of his clear gray eyes upon her. Thanks for saving me. It was very noble.

Rose blushed and looked down. Her happiness for the day was complete.

If Hank and Jim planned the jailbreak behind the barn, where’d you come from, Tom? asked Carrie of her younger brother.

The elder half of the TomKat, with his red-brown hair and his spindly build, looked like a gentle, scholarly lad who didn’t eat enough. He wore a pair of thick, dark-rimmed glasses, which gave him the look of a ruffled owl, and without them, his powers of sight were severely limited. But in contrast to