P.W. Stone and the Missing Kingdoms

Chapter 3

LOST DOWNRIVER

When I stepped outside, my senses exploded with melodic sounds, delightful aromas, and vibrant hues I'd never noticed before. The slightest movement captured my attention: grass, branches, leaves, squirrels, birds, insects, and clouds.

The kids milled around the yard as Margaret repositioned her cap and scarf.

With joy pumping through my veins, I raised my arm with grace and precision. "My kingdom awaits." I descended the stoop with a raised chin.

"You must be joking," an irritated voice said.

My delight faded as twisted faces glared up at me from the bottom of the slope.

Margaret slapped her leather gloves across her forearm. "Penelope, come on and try to keep up. We've wasted enough time waiting for you." She double snapped her fingers as if I was her circus dog.

After several steps, the sack Uncle William gave me caught my foot, causing me to trip and tumble. Then, when I scrambled to collect my rolling apple with the bag in hand, I tripped and skipped, slipped, and flipped down the slope.

The gang at the bottom of the hill watched the mortifying scene in hysterics.

Under normal circumstances, this mishap would have traumatized me, causing me to withdraw into a place inside myself. But the purple coat instilled a sense of confidence I'd never had.

When I made it to the bottom of the hill, I stood, brushed myself off, and took a bow. "Thank you. Be sure to return for the afternoon matinee."

The younger kids clapped and giggled, and the older kids smirked and walked away.

I stuffed my hands inside my coat pockets to keep them warm as I followed my cousins through the woods. In the left pocket, I felt a folded piece of paper. In the right—something cold and smooth. I removed the latter from my pocket and opened my hand—a white stone. I made out words carved on its surface.

On one side, it said: "Creation waits in eager expectation for their reveal." The other said: "P. W. Stone."

What does it mean?

"Hey, where'd you find that?" Thomas tried to take it from me.

"It's mine." I fisted the stone, jerked my arm away, and jammed it into my pocket.

We'd filled our bags half-full when the three younger boys snatched the giant cone the youngest found and played Keep-a-way.

"Give it back!" the little one cried.

I took the opportunity to tug the note from the left pocket. When I unfolded the paper, my heart jumped. It was a letter addressed to me:

Dear Penelope,

Although this coat won't fit until you're older, it's a gift for you. It's a Blessing Coat. I bought it from a merchant in a village near Cairo, Egypt, in August 2003. The fellow who sold it to me was an unusual sort. He wore armor that shimmered like peacock feathers. The man said the most remarkable things as if he knew we were expecting a baby. He said, 'A blessing coat for the one who is yet to come.' Then he claimed—

"What are you looking at there?" Thomas peeped over my shoulder.

"Nothing." I clutched the paper close, folded it, and shoved it into my pocket.

We were on our way again when Thomas kicked at the ground. "You guys don't believe what Father said about me not climbing trees, do you? He just didn't want me playing before I collected my share of pine cones. He doesn't realize it, but I can gather more pine cones from a tree."