Reading the Bones by Gina McMurchy-Barber

out from the page. She wore a long, wide band of tusk shells, mixed with smaller round shells over top of what appeared to be a poncho. The woman had a wide face with high cheekbones and a squared jaw. Though her skin looked smooth, she had deep creases around her eyes — like laugh lines. Crow’s feet, Mom would have said. And her hair was parted in the middle and braided along each side of her face. But it was her dark, magnetic gaze that held my attention.
    Mrs. Hobbs showed me other pictures and necklace patterns. Some were made of beads and feathers, others of shells, porcupine quills, and bones. But I had already decided I’d make a necklace like the one worn by the lady with the penetrating eyes. Her necklace must have had over a hundred tusk shells. Mine would have to be narrower.
    â€œMrs. Hobbs, I think I’d like to make a necklace like this one.” I pointed at the picture. “Only I won’t be able to make it as wide. And I’m thinking of using up my Adanson’s leptons in between to fill it out more.”
    Mrs. Hobbs studied the picture thoughtfully. “Yes, you could do that, Peggy dear. But rather than put holes in your lovely leptons, we could use shells that havenatural holes.” She pulled out a couple of shells and placed them in her hand for me to see. “This here is a two-spot keyhole limpet, and the other is a littleneck clam with a hole drilled by a moon snail. The tusk shells already have holes at each end, so it would simply be a matter of threading them all.”
    I had my heart set on using my Adanson’s leptons, but maybe for my first necklace it was better to go with the simpler plan. “I guess I could use these keyhole limpets, Mrs. Hobbs. I think the littlenecks are too big for what I have in mind.”
    â€œOkay, then. And we can use this fishing line to string them together. Of course, the ancient people wouldn’t have had this. They’d have made their necklaces with leather cords, or twine from cedar trees or strands of woven human hair.” Mrs. Hobbs pulled out a tray with tiny coloured beads. “You can add a few of these for colour, if you like, though traditionally they wouldn’t have had anything like this.” She helped me get my necklace started, then turned back to the books to look for a pattern of her own.
    Before long my fingers seemed to have a mind of their own as I strung the shells and beads. And for the first time in a long while I felt safe and comfortable, like the nights Mom and I curled up together in bed and read. As I worked, I thought about the stunning face in the book and wondered what the woman was thinking as she had stared down the lens of the camera nearly a hundred years ago.
    â€œMrs. Hobbs, if you found an artifact on your property, what would you do with it?” I could see that she was thinking about the question before answering. “Thereason I was asking,” I went on, “is because this weird guy came over to our house. He owns the gift shop in town and buys and sells ancient artifacts. I even saw his ad in the paper this morning. Our neighbour, Mr. Puddifoot, and Aunt Margaret seem to think it’s okay.”
    â€œThe gift shop owner you’re talking about is Walter Grimbal.” I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised that she knew who I was talking about. “Well, honey, Mr. Grimbal hasn’t had an easy life, and I think it’s left him hard and indifferent. But in my mind those artifacts he sells should never belong to just one person. They’re part of our prehistory. If they can’t stay in the ground with their original owners, then they belong in a museum where everyone can enjoy them.”
    â€œYou sound like Eddy. She’s the archaeologist who’s been excavating the burial in the backyard.”
    â€œOh, heavens, no need to explain who Eddy is. We go back a very long time — back to about your age, I