The Dragon in the Cliff Read online

  Not everyone who came approved of Papa. As I was laying out the platters of food, I heard Aunt Bea, whom I’ve always thought looked like a witch with her pale face, long, thin nose, and high forehead, whisper to Mrs. Cruikshanks, “It was the curiosities that killed him.” She looked over to Ann and John, who were standing in their Sunday clothes with black crepe wrapped around their sleeves, staring with bewilderment at all the people. “If he hadn’t insisted on going down to the beach, his family wouldn’t be left fatherless. But that was all he ever thought about.” Then seeing me and realizing that I had heard her, she turned away.

  She was not the only one who blamed Papa’s death on the curiosities. Later, when Lizzie and I were helping Mrs. Cruikshanks clear up, I heard Aunt Letty Hunnicutt say to Hannah Moore, “The beach is no place for a body. Damp, cold, and dangerous, it is. I don’t understand why Molly agreed to his going down there. She should have put a stop to it. But she was always soft, easy to sway. She never could go up against him. He would always have his way, no matter what a body said. Well now, see what it’s brought. Him dead and her left with all those children to raise by herself.”

  “You might as well try to keep a lark from singing as keep Mr. Anning from the beach,” Lizzie said loudly to no one in particular, silencing the two women.

  “Pay no heed to those old sharp-tongued busybodies, Mary. They are spiteful and wicked, speaking of your poor dead papa that way,” she said, when the two of us were alone in the scullery later. “Everyone knows it was the sea air that kept your papa going for so long.” She put her hand on my arm and gazed at me with her serious gray eyes. “Poor, poor Mary. How awful for you.” Suddenly I was crying and so was she.

  We heard the clatter of footsteps on the stairs. Our guests were leaving. I hurriedly wiped away my tears with my handkerchief and, giving it to Lizzie so she could wipe hers, went to see them out.

  Uncle Philip and Aunt Bea stayed after everyone else left to talk to Mama and Joseph about what was to become of us. I could tell that Mama was upset by the way she rushed around, pushing chairs back around the table, ordering John upstairs to bed, and Ann and I downstairs to the scullery to wash up.

  Ann insisted that it was my turn to go to the pump for water, but I wanted to hear what was being said upstairs. When I reminded her that I had fetched water that morning, she said, “You’re bigger and stronger, Mary, and can bring more back.” Which is what she always said. I was bigger and stronger. Ann was a weak little thing, with honey-colored curls and soft brown eyes. She was a smaller version of Mama, while I look more like Papa with my dark hair, blue eyes, and high forehead. Her shy, doubtful manner always made everyone come to her aid, including me.

  “It’s your turn, Ann, you are big enough now,” I replied. But when she did not go, I took pity on her as usual and made the trip to the pump despite my desire to hear what was being decided.

  When I came back, I heard Uncle Philip say, “All there are in the shop are his tools and a few pieces of veneer, which you can sell, Molly.”

  Pointing upstairs, I shushed Ann, who was chattering about the buns our neighbors had brought. “You forgot the curiosities, Uncle Philip,” Joseph said. “We can sell them.”

  “But that’s not enough to keep you, Molly,” Uncle Philip said, paying no heed to Joseph. “You’ll have to find steady work, and I’m afraid that Joseph will have to leave Hale’s and find some work that pays.”

  “I’d be nothing but a common workman if I left Hale’s,” Joseph broke in. He sounded as if he was about to burst into tears. “I would have no trade.… Papa said …”

  Mama interrupted him. “I do not want Joseph to leave Hale’s. Richard wanted him to have a trade. He worked and saved to have him apprenticed, paid Hale thirty pounds. I will not see it lost.”

  “The boy cannot continue with Hale,” Uncle Philip responded calmly. “You don’t have the money, and another thirty pounds is due Hale at the end of Joseph’s term. Better that Joseph leave sooner and begin to shoulder the burden of the family than later when you have nowhere to turn but the parish.”

  But Mama refused to be reasonable. “A thirteen-year-old lad cannot make enough to feed a family. We will come up with the thirty pounds for Hale. I will sell the sideboard Richard made to become a master craftsman. I will sell everything if need be so that Joseph can finish the apprenticeship. You heard the lad. If he quits Hale’s, all he will be is a common laborer, and there are enough of those starving around here already. If he does not learn a trade, he will not be able to provide for himself, let alone me and the children. Don’t you see, Philip, the only hope we have is for Joseph to have a real trade. Otherwise we will not be able to hold up our heads. We shall be paupers.”

  “Molly, even if you can find the money to pay Hale at the end of Joseph’s training, you need to feed the children and pay for the roof over your heads for six long years until then. How will you do that?” Uncle Philip asked.

  “With the lace I make. And when there are no orders for lace, I will make whatever else I can. Ann is learning and she’s a good knitter as well. We can sell her work. John will soon be able to work, too. He will be able to make himself useful somewhere. Mary has the curiosities. It was you who saw to that. We will rent out the attic to people who come to take the waters in summer, we will rent out Richard’s shop, we will make out,” she replied. “I trust in the Lord, and I know he will care for us. Is it not written, ‘Take therefore no thought for the morrow: for the morrow shall take thought for the things of itself. Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof’?”

  There was nothing Uncle Philip could reply to this.

  The next morning Ann and I walked with Uncle Philip and Aunt Bea to the top of the town before parting. On the way past the marketplace Aunt Bea stopped to buy some ribbon. Uncle Philip, Ann, and I continued on our own up Broad Street past the fine houses with their tall windows. Ann skipped ahead and Uncle Philip put his arm around my shoulder. “I am afraid, Mary, my dear,” he said, “that a heavy burden has been placed upon you; too heavy, perhaps. Your brother’s fate depends upon your ability to find and sell curiosities. Indeed the fate of all of your family depends on that. It is foolishness to place such a burden on a lass your age. But I wish you well, my dear. I wish you well, for your sake, for your poor Mama’s, and for little Ann and John’s.”

  Despite Uncle Philip’s misgivings, I was not afraid of my new responsibility, probably because I did not understand what it would mean. I was proud that everyone was depending on me, especially Joseph. I would not let him down. I had no doubt that the curiosities would provide for us.

  In the days following Papa’s burial Mama kept us shut up in the house. As soon as I had permission to leave the house again, I went out to look for curiosities. I did not find many that day, but as I was returning from the beach, I met a beautiful lady in a black jacket with small brass buttons who asked if she might see what I found. Attracted by her, several boys who were playing nearby gathered around us.

  “Where did you find it?” she asked me, admiring a large ammonite with a fernlike pattern etched on its surface.

  “In the Lias over there.” I pointed down the beach to the cliffs.

  “Do you find many?” she asked me.

  “She makes her living selling them,” Adam Garrison answered for me. “She’s the Stone Girl.”

  “A curious curiosity,” William Trowbridge added. The boys laughed.

  “I shall give you a half a crown for it,” said the lady, holding the ammonite up to look at it more closely.

  Adam Garrison let out a long whistle.

  “I’ll go down to the beach and find you a dozen more for that,” William Trowbridge offered.

  There were other rude remarks, but I paid them no heed because I knew that despite their brave talk they were unlikely to find anything as good. She gave me the coin, which I accepted with a curtsy.

  I ran all the way to Mama with the half crown. It was more than anyone ever paid Pa
pa for an ammonite. It was enough money to pay for bread, butter, and even tea and sugar for a week.

  Mama cried for joy and hugged me hard, holding me for a long time. Recovering herself, she wiped the tears from her cheeks and began to scurry around the kitchen, putting things away. Then stopping abruptly, she ordered Ann to fetch some buns from the baker’s. When we were eating them at supper that evening, she asked me to tell her again about the lady in the black spencer and how she gave me a half crown for a curiosity, which I did, except for the part about the boys and their rude remarks. She repeated the story herself every time a neighbor asked how we were getting on in the days that followed. With every telling, Mama and I grew more convinced that we could manage.

  A COSTLY MISTAKE

  I soon discovered that a half crown does not go far when there are four people to feed and keep warm, nor are ladies who pay a half crown for an ammonite encountered often. Most importantly, I quickly learned that if we were to survive, I had to find curiosities and sell them all the time. With these discoveries, finding curiosities soon changed from a game to a necessity that required all my energy, ingenuity, and skill. On a particularly unsuccessful day, when I was about to give up and return home empty-handed after hours of searching, I spied a new slide further down the beach. It was growing late and the tide had long since turned, but driven by need, I went over to see what it might contain. It was a rich slide and within a few minutes I had found a sea lily. The next thing I knew the water was lapping at my heels. I’ll get wet, I thought, annoyed at myself for being foolish. I began to walk back along the beach toward town.

  But my way was barred by the rising tide. I did not get very far before the waves were threatening to sweep me off my feet as they came rushing in, one on the heels of the other. There was no way for me to escape except by climbing up over the cliffs, which rose up in front of me like a wall. I searched the face of the cliffs, looking for a way to climb up out of the reach of the water. I ran through the surf, looking frantically, seeking some softening in the almost perpendicular wall of rock.

  At last I spied what looked like a ledge, really only a small indentation in the cliff. I scrambled up to it with difficulty and looked down. The waves were crashing at the base of the cliff, but I was out of their reach.

  I clung to that spot, thinking that I was safe and could remain there until the tide receded. Then, without warning, a large wave came crashing at my feet. The tide was continuing to rise. In sheer terror, I crawled up the face of the cliff, like a fly on a wall, finding a toehold and then pulling the rest of my body up to it with the aid of the projecting rocks. Each move was an agony. I cut my hands on the sharp rock and ripped my skirt. A slippery piece of shale almost made me fall.

  At last, having reached a place where I could stand, I stopped to catch my breath. I looked down. The ledge I had first stood on was covered by water now, and still the waves seemed to be mounting. How high would they go? I was afraid to think.

  Desperately scanning the cliff, I looked for some way that I might get out of reach of the waves. High above me there were some bushes clinging to the cliff’s face. Looking up at them I realized that those bushes meant safety. The water did not reach that high or else they would not grow there. I had to get up to them.

  I began my slow crawl up the face of the cliff again. I pulled myself from projecting stone to projecting stone, creeping higher and higher. As I came up to the level of the bush that had been my goal, I grabbed hold of its trunk to pull myself up further. It pulled out of the cliff in my hand, sending me sliding down. I screamed in terror. Pummeled by falling dirt and rock, I was certain I was falling to my death. But after a moment or two, I realized that I had stopped sliding. Gradually the rocks and dirt stopped falling. I heard someone yelling, “Hold on! Hold on!” Clinging to the rock with my entire being, I lifted my head to look up.

  Several feet above me and a little to one side, were two men leaning over a ledge looking down at me. With a start I recognized one of them as our neighbor Mr. Peel. “Don’t be frightened. You’ve stopped falling,” he reassured me.

  Then after a minute or two, he asked, “Do you think you can get back up again?”

  I nodded weakly. He guided me step-by-step back up the cliff, telling me where to put my feet, coaxing me on. When I was near the ledge on which the two men were standing, Mr. Peel took me by one arm and the other man, who had not spoken, took me by the other and pulled me up.

  No sooner was I standing on the ledge beside him, than Mr. Peel gruffly demanded, “What are you doing here, lass?”

  “I was caught by the tide,” I explained, brushing the dirt from my face and hair.

  “Working down there by yourself, were you?” he asked.

  I nodded, too exhausted to wonder what he was doing in this unlikely place.

  “Well, you had better move on now and hurry home,” he said. “This is no place for you now. We are expecting a ship before the tide turns.”

  His friend cleared his throat nervously.

  Mr. Peel laughed. “Don’t be shy of her, Isaac,” he said, looking at me. “She’s a good lass. Carrying on her father’s trade. Mr. Anning was often out on the cliffs and knew to keep his mouth shut. You could trust him not to see what he wasn’t meant to.”

  I was relieved that it was Mr. Peel on the cliff. Some other lookout landing a smuggled cargo would have been afraid to help me and would have left me to slide down the cliff.

  I had barely caught my breath when Mr. Peel told Isaac to escort me to the top of the cliff. Isaac, who was a long-legged young man with a dark gypsy look, started off without even looking back to see that I was following. He made his way up the cliff with an expertise born of practice. I scrambled behind as best I could, keeping sight of the green ribbon on his cap. When he reached a bare spot that looked like a path, he stopped to wait for me to catch up. “This will take you to the top,” he said, and without so much as another glance in my direction, he left me to make my way home.

  It was not until I reached the streets of Lyme that I allowed myself to think about how close to drowning I had come. I shivered with the thought. I knew how Mama would carry on if she knew and decided not to say a word about what had happened.

  Ordinarily, I emptied my basket when I returned to the shop and cleaned the curiosities. But on that day I was overcome by exhaustion from my ordeal on the cliffs and I did not think about the curiosity basket. I brushed myself off, turned my skirt so that the tear was covered by my apron, and went directly upstairs to warm myself by the fire.

  Ann was sitting near the window knitting under Mama’s watchful eye and John was sitting by the hearth playing jackstraws. “You moved that one,” I said, watching him pick a straw from the jumble of straws on the hearth.

  “Play with me, Mary,” he begged. “Everyone is busy but me, and it’s no fun picking up straws by myself.” I was only too glad to lose myself in a game.

  The next day was Wednesday, the day the coach came to the Three Cups Inn with its load of travelers and visitors to town. It was not until I was down in the shop that I realized that I did not have the curiosity basket with yesterday’s finds and my tools. My mind raced over the events of the preceding day. Where had I put them down? I had them when I scrambled up to my first resting place on the cliff, that much I remembered, but beyond that I had no recollection of them at all. I would have to go back to look for them as soon as the coach left, as frightening as that might be. This time I would make certain that the tide was out.

  The press of work did not allow me to dwell on my loss. I did not have many curiosities prepared, and there was only time to prepare one more, which I did as quickly as I could with the few tools left in the shop.

  Time flew by as I worked and soon the church bell chimed two o’clock, the signal for me to put curiosities out on the table we kept outside the shop to attract travelers. Try as I might, the table looked bare. I searched through the shop for more attractive curiosities, but I could fin
d only verteberries. I swept the whole lot of them into my apron and carried them to the table. There were eight of them—laid out in a row I thought that they looked as if they might belong together. As I was laying them out I recalled a conversation Papa and I had once had about verteberries. I had asked him if there were dragons in England. “Mr. Whitecomb says that the verteberries are the backbones of a dragon,” I explained, mentioning the name of a prominent member of our meeting.

  Papa had smiled at my question. “Some say that. Others say they belong to a crocodile. Whatever beast they are from, it was a big one. And it lived long ago, maybe even before the flood. No one has ever seen a crocodile or a dragon in England in our time. But you never know, Mary, you never know. There are strange things on this earth.

  “Mr. Johnson, from Bristol, he’s interested in the verteberries we find in the cliffs. I asked him what creature they came from. He has been to university, but he does not know. Says no one does. We don’t have enough pieces of the beast to know yet, but someday we will.”

  “How would they know if all the pieces came from the same creature?” I asked him. “They are all a jumble when we find them. Could be several different creatures mixed up together.”

  “Johnson tells me that collectors and scientists have their way of working these things out. But I tell him, they could be wrong and never know. Best thing is to find a skeleton in one piece. Then you know what it is. ‘Well,’ says he, ‘Find it, Anning, find it.’”