OLD MEREDITH
Every seven years, the river leaves its banks and fills our streets with rushing water. Every seven years, we disappear into our houses for weeks on end, waiting for the water to leave. Every seven years we watch in resigned silence as the river washes away our lives, and we prepare to start all over again.
When spring comes, the river is swollen with the winter snowmelt, but that’s okay—that happens every year. Parents keep their children away from the banks, and teenagers dare each other to swim in the icy water.
Every seventh summer is hot and beautiful, as if the universe is apologizing in advance for what’s going to happen. Farmers cut bumper crops of hay, and the cows get fat and lazy.
It’s the autumn rain that brings the floods. Icy sheets of rain pour down for days as the weather gets colder, and the river starts to leave its banks. The farmers load their hay into barn lofts and herd their cows onto higher ground, where they won’t get swept away.
The river controls our lives around here, but no one really minds. There are worse things to be controlled by. And when the flood waters recede, there are always treasures buried in the silt.
That’s where Old Meredith came from. The mayor opened his front door on the day the floods ended, and Old Meredith was sticking up from the ground like a scarecrow.
I mean, that’s the way he tells the story. No one gets Old Meredith’s side of the story, because she doesn’t speak. No one even knows her real name.
My sister always sits with Old Meredith after church. Mother tries to drag her away (I think Mother’s a little scared of Old Meredith), but my sister doesn’t listen to anyone anymore. I think if Old Meredith started talking she would listen to her, but Mother doesn’t want either of us to have anything to do with “that woman.”
I never tell Mother, but sometimes when I go to the library to get a new mystery story book, Old Meredith is there, reading from the “Classics” shelf, and I sit next to her with my book and we read together in silence.
Some people think Old Meredith brought the town good fortune when she arrived. Mother doesn’t, obviously—all she believes in are her flowerpots and her book of recipes. But some people believe in luck and the winds of fate. I heard the English teacher talk about how much things have improved since the last flood.
“It’s all Old Meredith’s doing,” she said that day before class started. “She brought some kind of magic here.”
Old Meredith certainly looked magical—she walked around town in clothing of the brightest yellow, and the cane she always held looked a lot more like a staff. Most of the kids in town were scared of her, and told each other stories about the way she wandered around at night, silent as death. Mother, on the other hand, says there’s no such thing as magic, and Old Meredith is just a confused old woman, and we should probably stay away from her.
But it couldn’t be denied, since the last time the river had flooded, the summers had been warmer, and the farmers’ harvests had been plentiful. Even the most disagreeable people in town had become more agreeable. No one knew the real reason behind it, but most everyone seemed to credit Old Meredith with the change. Because of this, even though she didn’t speak, everyone in town treated her like a queen. She lived in a little apartment above the hardware store, and the grocer sent along bags of food every week. Some of the more cynical townspeople shook their heads and complained about having to work while others got free housing and food, but for the most part everyone regarded it as a fair system. Old Meredith brought us her luck and we gave her food and a place to live.
For about six years, life continued as usual. From ages five to twelve, I lived in blissful good fortune. I went to school, played with my friends, went swimming in the river during the warm summers, and built snowmen during the beautiful winters. Old Meredith never uttered a word.
During the summer of my twelfth year, things started to change. That was a seventh summer—one I remember more vividly than any other summer of my life. Autumn came closer with every passing day, and even though the summer was beautiful, the town was preparing for the flood.
The first thing that changed that summer was that Old Meredith started walking down to the riverbank every day. I’d see her in the morning as I got ready for school, her yellow robes making a trail through the dewy grass. Often when I looked out the window again, there would be another trail through the grass—this one made by my sister.
The second thing that changed was that Old Meredith started talking.
“Old Meredith doesn’t belong here,” my sister told me, at the beginning of the seventh summer. “She’s waiting for the floods to take her away again.”
“How do you know?” I asked. “Did she tell you?”
“Yes,” said my sister. “And she said that the town isn’t going to let her go.”
“Why not?” I asked.
“Because everyone thinks she brought them good fortune,” said my sister, gesturing to the town at large. “She says they’re going to try to keep her here.”
“Why is she talking to you? Why hasn’t she talked to anyone else?”
“Because I’m the only one who’s listening.”
That was unfair. I was the one who read books with her in the library. Why wasn’t she talking to me?
“What’s going to happen in the fall, then?” I asked.
“I don’t know yet,” my sister said grimly, as if she was planning something.
The third thing that changed were the rest of the people in town.
The mayor, normally a jolly, red-faced man, became significantly less jolly. In fact, he became downright suspicious. When I went to the store to buy milk and eggs, he would be in there, speaking in hushed tones, and his eyes would dart back and forth like he was watching for someone.
The English teacher stopped talking about how good the past few years had been, and started talking instead about how scary the future was.
Old Meredith packed a carpetbag full of her yellow garments, and seemed to make a permanent home at the riverbank.
My sister packed a duffel bag of clothes and followed her there. She and Old Meredith had long conversations—I could see them from my bedroom window, sitting by the river on a log, talking and talking until the sun went down and I couldn’t see them anymore.
My sister would tell me the things Old Meredith said. She explained that Old Meredith had floated down the river from somewhere completely different. Where Old Meredith was from, people dressed in bright colors, and there was never any flooding. Life just kept stacking on top of itself for years and years until you died.
“She’s very wise,” said my sister. “You should come with me and talk to her. Soon you won’t be able to anymore.”
The days were getting shorter and cooler, and I thought of Old Meredith floating down the river, taking her good fortune with her, never to be seen again. And then I thought of Mother, and how she would feel if both her daughters walked down to the riverbank.
“That’s okay,” I said. “I believe you.”
“If you say so,” said my sister. “She knows so many things. You don’t have to be scared of her.”
“I’m not scared,” I said, which was true. “She probably won’t even talk to me.”
The night before the flooding started, my sister didn’t come home. Normally this wasn’t a problem, because the summer nights were mild, and Mother didn’t care what my sister did with her time, but since the weather had gotten colder, I’d seen Mother looking worriedly out the window towards the riverbank.
“Run and find your sister, would you?” Mother asked me. “But if she isn’t by the river, come right home. Don’t stay out there. It could start to rain any minute.”
I dashed through the damp grass, terror and excitement waging war in my stomach. No one was supposed to be outside this close to the flooding.
I found my sister and Old Meredith sitting on the log by the riverbank.
“Look,” said my sister, “she’s finally here.”
“The river’s going to flood soon!” I gestured to the very near proximity of the river. “Mother says you have to come inside!”
“Mother doesn’t care about me,” scoffed my sister. “Besides, I have more important things to do.”
Rain started to softly fall. I looked, panicked, at the darkening sky. “Come on!”
“Go with your sister,” said Old Meredith. Her voice sounded scratchy and old, just like I’d imagined. “It’s too dangerous here.”
“They’re going to try to stop you!” My sister pointed towards the town. “They’re coming tonight to lock you up. They want to keep you here forever.”
“They believe that I was the one who brought the good fortune,” agreed Old Meredith, “but it wasn’t me. It was the river. The river comes through every seven years and changes everything. You’ve both known this for as long as you’ve lived here.”
“The river starts everything over again,” I said. “It washes everything clean.”
“No,” said Old Meredith. “It changes things. It doesn’t erase them. These past years have been prosperous and good because your town wanted prosperity and good fortune. Now that the flooding has come again, no one want things to change. I don’t think these next few years will be as kind.”
The rain fell harder, and I skirted away from the rushing water of the river.
“You should both go,” said Old Meredith. “I’ll be safe once the river rises.”
We ran back home hand-in-hand, and we watched through the windows as a group of people, led by the mayor, made their way to the riverbank to catch Old Meredith. They carried torches that blazed through the gathering darkness and autumn rain.
“They won’t hurt her,” my sister said, squeezing my hand so tightly it hurt. “They just want her to stay in the town.”
The torches wavered in the rain. It looked like a witch hunt. We heard shouting through the rain, but the townspeople didn’t dare go near the river.
The rain fell harder and the river rose higher, and the torches wavered uncertainly before the townspeople ran from the rising water. For a split second, the light of their torches illuminated a figure in brightest yellow, running towards the river, being swept away to a new place.
When spring comes, the river is swollen with the winter snowmelt, but that’s okay—that happens every year. Parents keep their children away from the banks, and teenagers dare each other to swim in the icy water.
Every seventh summer is hot and beautiful, as if the universe is apologizing in advance for what’s going to happen. Farmers cut bumper crops of hay, and the cows get fat and lazy.
It’s the autumn rain that brings the floods. Icy sheets of rain pour down for days as the weather gets colder, and the river starts to leave its banks. The farmers load their hay into barn lofts and herd their cows onto higher ground, where they won’t get swept away.
The river controls our lives around here, but no one really minds. There are worse things to be controlled by. And when the flood waters recede, there are always treasures buried in the silt.
That’s where Old Meredith came from. The mayor opened his front door on the day the floods ended, and Old Meredith was sticking up from the ground like a scarecrow.
I mean, that’s the way he tells the story. No one gets Old Meredith’s side of the story, because she doesn’t speak. No one even knows her real name.
My sister always sits with Old Meredith after church. Mother tries to drag her away (I think Mother’s a little scared of Old Meredith), but my sister doesn’t listen to anyone anymore. I think if Old Meredith started talking she would listen to her, but Mother doesn’t want either of us to have anything to do with “that woman.”
I never tell Mother, but sometimes when I go to the library to get a new mystery story book, Old Meredith is there, reading from the “Classics” shelf, and I sit next to her with my book and we read together in silence.
Some people think Old Meredith brought the town good fortune when she arrived. Mother doesn’t, obviously—all she believes in are her flowerpots and her book of recipes. But some people believe in luck and the winds of fate. I heard the English teacher talk about how much things have improved since the last flood.
“It’s all Old Meredith’s doing,” she said that day before class started. “She brought some kind of magic here.”
Old Meredith certainly looked magical—she walked around town in clothing of the brightest yellow, and the cane she always held looked a lot more like a staff. Most of the kids in town were scared of her, and told each other stories about the way she wandered around at night, silent as death. Mother, on the other hand, says there’s no such thing as magic, and Old Meredith is just a confused old woman, and we should probably stay away from her.
But it couldn’t be denied, since the last time the river had flooded, the summers had been warmer, and the farmers’ harvests had been plentiful. Even the most disagreeable people in town had become more agreeable. No one knew the real reason behind it, but most everyone seemed to credit Old Meredith with the change. Because of this, even though she didn’t speak, everyone in town treated her like a queen. She lived in a little apartment above the hardware store, and the grocer sent along bags of food every week. Some of the more cynical townspeople shook their heads and complained about having to work while others got free housing and food, but for the most part everyone regarded it as a fair system. Old Meredith brought us her luck and we gave her food and a place to live.
For about six years, life continued as usual. From ages five to twelve, I lived in blissful good fortune. I went to school, played with my friends, went swimming in the river during the warm summers, and built snowmen during the beautiful winters. Old Meredith never uttered a word.
During the summer of my twelfth year, things started to change. That was a seventh summer—one I remember more vividly than any other summer of my life. Autumn came closer with every passing day, and even though the summer was beautiful, the town was preparing for the flood.
The first thing that changed that summer was that Old Meredith started walking down to the riverbank every day. I’d see her in the morning as I got ready for school, her yellow robes making a trail through the dewy grass. Often when I looked out the window again, there would be another trail through the grass—this one made by my sister.
The second thing that changed was that Old Meredith started talking.
“Old Meredith doesn’t belong here,” my sister told me, at the beginning of the seventh summer. “She’s waiting for the floods to take her away again.”
“How do you know?” I asked. “Did she tell you?”
“Yes,” said my sister. “And she said that the town isn’t going to let her go.”
“Why not?” I asked.
“Because everyone thinks she brought them good fortune,” said my sister, gesturing to the town at large. “She says they’re going to try to keep her here.”
“Why is she talking to you? Why hasn’t she talked to anyone else?”
“Because I’m the only one who’s listening.”
That was unfair. I was the one who read books with her in the library. Why wasn’t she talking to me?
“What’s going to happen in the fall, then?” I asked.
“I don’t know yet,” my sister said grimly, as if she was planning something.
The third thing that changed were the rest of the people in town.
The mayor, normally a jolly, red-faced man, became significantly less jolly. In fact, he became downright suspicious. When I went to the store to buy milk and eggs, he would be in there, speaking in hushed tones, and his eyes would dart back and forth like he was watching for someone.
The English teacher stopped talking about how good the past few years had been, and started talking instead about how scary the future was.
Old Meredith packed a carpetbag full of her yellow garments, and seemed to make a permanent home at the riverbank.
My sister packed a duffel bag of clothes and followed her there. She and Old Meredith had long conversations—I could see them from my bedroom window, sitting by the river on a log, talking and talking until the sun went down and I couldn’t see them anymore.
My sister would tell me the things Old Meredith said. She explained that Old Meredith had floated down the river from somewhere completely different. Where Old Meredith was from, people dressed in bright colors, and there was never any flooding. Life just kept stacking on top of itself for years and years until you died.
“She’s very wise,” said my sister. “You should come with me and talk to her. Soon you won’t be able to anymore.”
The days were getting shorter and cooler, and I thought of Old Meredith floating down the river, taking her good fortune with her, never to be seen again. And then I thought of Mother, and how she would feel if both her daughters walked down to the riverbank.
“That’s okay,” I said. “I believe you.”
“If you say so,” said my sister. “She knows so many things. You don’t have to be scared of her.”
“I’m not scared,” I said, which was true. “She probably won’t even talk to me.”
The night before the flooding started, my sister didn’t come home. Normally this wasn’t a problem, because the summer nights were mild, and Mother didn’t care what my sister did with her time, but since the weather had gotten colder, I’d seen Mother looking worriedly out the window towards the riverbank.
“Run and find your sister, would you?” Mother asked me. “But if she isn’t by the river, come right home. Don’t stay out there. It could start to rain any minute.”
I dashed through the damp grass, terror and excitement waging war in my stomach. No one was supposed to be outside this close to the flooding.
I found my sister and Old Meredith sitting on the log by the riverbank.
“Look,” said my sister, “she’s finally here.”
“The river’s going to flood soon!” I gestured to the very near proximity of the river. “Mother says you have to come inside!”
“Mother doesn’t care about me,” scoffed my sister. “Besides, I have more important things to do.”
Rain started to softly fall. I looked, panicked, at the darkening sky. “Come on!”
“Go with your sister,” said Old Meredith. Her voice sounded scratchy and old, just like I’d imagined. “It’s too dangerous here.”
“They’re going to try to stop you!” My sister pointed towards the town. “They’re coming tonight to lock you up. They want to keep you here forever.”
“They believe that I was the one who brought the good fortune,” agreed Old Meredith, “but it wasn’t me. It was the river. The river comes through every seven years and changes everything. You’ve both known this for as long as you’ve lived here.”
“The river starts everything over again,” I said. “It washes everything clean.”
“No,” said Old Meredith. “It changes things. It doesn’t erase them. These past years have been prosperous and good because your town wanted prosperity and good fortune. Now that the flooding has come again, no one want things to change. I don’t think these next few years will be as kind.”
The rain fell harder, and I skirted away from the rushing water of the river.
“You should both go,” said Old Meredith. “I’ll be safe once the river rises.”
We ran back home hand-in-hand, and we watched through the windows as a group of people, led by the mayor, made their way to the riverbank to catch Old Meredith. They carried torches that blazed through the gathering darkness and autumn rain.
“They won’t hurt her,” my sister said, squeezing my hand so tightly it hurt. “They just want her to stay in the town.”
The torches wavered in the rain. It looked like a witch hunt. We heard shouting through the rain, but the townspeople didn’t dare go near the river.
The rain fell harder and the river rose higher, and the torches wavered uncertainly before the townspeople ran from the rising water. For a split second, the light of their torches illuminated a figure in brightest yellow, running towards the river, being swept away to a new place.