Monday. The first day of summer. Bruce stepped out of his car and looked around. For a small town, Memory Grove Village appeared to have a lot to offer. Of course, he knew that before he came. He always did his homework. He was looking forward to checking out the local live theater. Amateur, not professional, but he had heard it could give a lot of professional establishments a run for their money. Then there was the steak house famous for its barbecued ribs. People came from as far as a thousand miles away for those ribs. He also wanted to visit the state-of-the-art combination gym and spa, the House of the World’s Best Root Beer Float, the Museum of the Past, Present and Future, and more.

First things first, though. He turned back to the car and pulled out a briefcase. He turned again and looked at the building in front of him and cleared his throat. Over the door, giant letters proclaimed, “Memory Grove Textiles”. He walked up the steps to the windowless door and pressed the buzzer.

A tinny voice said, “Yes?”

He cleared his throat again. “Bruce Harrington from Pro-Ack Incorporated.”

“Come on in, Bruce.” The door lock clicked.

The entryway was spacious. He walked through to another door on the opposite side. Directly to his left on the other side of the second door a man, probably in his mid-twenties, sat at the reception window.

“Good morning, Mr Harrington. Sorry about the extreme security. We have some heavy equipment in the factory, so regulations require a secured entry. He rolled his eyes. “My name is Ron, by the way. You are right on time. Shannon will take you to the conference room.”

A woman, who appeared to be about the same age as Ron came around the corner and said, “Come with me, please.”

Bruce followed Shannon up a flight of stairs and down a short hall. She stopped at a door marked “Conference Room 3”.

“In here.”

Bruce coughed and cleared his throat. “Thanks, Shannon.”

He entered the room, and Shannon closed the door behind him. There were five people sitting at the conference table. The man farthest from the door rose and said, “Welcome, welcome, Mr Harrington,” in a booming voice that matched his imposing presence. He stood 6'4" and weighed about 280 pounds. With no jiggly parts. “I’m Joe Parker. This is Steve Carlson, Deena Post, Elaine Dotson, and Brad Williams.

Bruce shook hands all around the table, then sat in the chair indicated by CEO and President Joe.

“I’m very happy to meet you all,” Bruce began. “As you know, I’m here to talk about a proposed merger between Pro-Ack Incorporated and Memory Grove Textiles.”

Elaine sat forward. “I confess I’m a bit confused as to why you’ve come. I know you’re aware we have declined your offer.”

“Yes, that’s true and I do appreciate your willingness to meet with me in spite of that.”

He sat, opened his briefcase, and removed a stack of papers.

“I have here copies of our proposal, which has been modified somewhat since you saw it last.” He passed around the copies.

“If you will indulge me, I would like to review the points, one by one, stopping for questions and discussion after each.

“Item 1. As you can see, we propose to carry out the merger as an acquisition. I understand any objections to this on the surface, as an acquisition implies loss of local control and identity. I assure you this would not be the case. The reason for styling it as an acquisition is to streamline the process. Because your textile industry is a private, family-owned corporation without public stock ownership, it is much more expedient, on paper, to buy the company. You would thus become an instant publicly-owned corporation. Are there any comments or questions so far?”

Elaine spoke up again. “I think, if we were interested in this merger, we would no doubt be able to come to an agreement on the various points. The details of the offer are not the problem.”

“I don’t understand.”

“We are simply not interested in this merger, regardless of the form or the methods used.”

“You are aware you would have access to a much larger market?”

“Yes.”

“And you don’t want that?”

“We have as much business as we can handle. Our product is very popular.”

“But, that’s part of my point. You could handle much more business if you agreed to the merger. Together we would find ways to streamline your techniques. With our backing you would be able to expand, build more manufacturing facilities. We could have facilities strategically located all over the world.”

“Who would be running those ‘strategically located’ facilities?”

“Each plant, of course, would need its own staff, both managers and workers. Your home office would retain control of hiring and supervising the staff in each location.”

“We would be spread very thin if we started sending people all over the world. Plus, you will find few people here who want to relocate.”

“You could hire all new people. Home office people could train the new staff, either on location or here.”

Steve joined the conversation. “I will repeat what Elaine said earlier. I believe all these details could be worked out if we wanted this merger. I still haven’t heard anything that convinces me we would be interested.”

Bruce looked at Steve. “The bottom line is, you merge, you expand and grow, you make more money. More money comes back to Memory Grove Village. You would always receive a share of all the profits from your division, and your division would include all the factories developed to use your processes and techniques for producing textiles. I understand your town has been stagnant, growth-wise, for many years. This is the catalyst that could provide a breakthrough for the development of your town.”

“Frankly,” said Brad, “I don’t understand—and I think I speak not only for the entire board and company but also for the town as well—I don’t understand your infatuation with bigger and more. I know you’re aware we draw a disproportionate share of vacationers, based on our population. I believe we have much more to offer than any other town our size. I admit we have no extremely rich individuals or companies here, but we also have no true poverty. No one in our town goes hungry. No one. Ever. No one goes without needed medical care. Everyone has clothes to wear, a place to live. And really, who needs to have more money than she or he can possibly spend?”

Bruce sat back, nonplussed. “I don’t know what to say. Doesn’t everyone want more?”

“More what?” Deena asked. “Money? Stuff? Money is only good for paying for things. We have enough to pay for what we need and want. Everyone already has more than enough stuff. Most people would be happier if they had less stuff, not more. You have to take care of stuff. The more stuff, the more work.”

Bruce tried again. “It sounds like Memory Grove Village is stagnating. There is no growth and, apparently, no ambition.”

Joe frowned. “We don’t think you are in a position to judge us.”

Bruce back-peddled. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to judge, but I do have to wonder what provides motivation if no one is interested in…in…more…better….” His voice trailed away.

Deena spoke. “There is no lack of motivation here. We need to stay alert and educated or we will lose what we have. We have a lot and we need to stay motivated to maintain it. We have great cultural activities, an excellent education system, and an innovative social services system that keeps people on their feet or helps them back to their feet as unobtrusively as possible.”

Bruce looked from face to face. “Isn’t there anything you want, that anyone wants, that isn’t available in Memory Grove Village?”

Joe lifted a finger. “Yes.”

“What is it?” Bruce asked, certain he would be able to gain some leverage with the information.

“World peace.”

“You know that isn’t what I mean.” Bruce was frustrated. “You don’t get it. Doesn’t anyone want to get ahead?”

“Actually,” Brad said, “it’s you who doesn’t get it. 'Doesn’t anyone want to get ahead?' Ahead of what? Or who? And if you get ahead, who’s going to be behind? You’re just regurgitating what you’ve been hearing all your life. People don’t want to get ahead. They want to get happy. They think acquiring things and riches—getting ahead, as you put it—will make them happy. They’re wrong. We are happy. We don’t need more stuff. Most people need less stuff. Think about it. When you’re lying on your death bed, which do you think you’re more likely to say with your last breath, ‘I wish I had accumulated more stuff or money’ or ‘I wish I had enjoyed my family more’?”

Bruce sat back, defeated.

“Don’t take it too hard,” Joe said. “It’s pretty hard to sell anything to someone who is completely satisfied. This is a town of satisfied people.”

Bruce managed a weak smile. “If I could bottle what you have here, I could get rich selling it.”

“Who knows,” Joe said. “Maybe you’ll figure out a way to do that. Will you be staying a few days?”

“I was planning to stay. I thought we would spend more time negotiating a merger. Now I don’t know.”

“Why not stay as you had planned. Instead of wasting any time negotiating, get acquainted with Memory Grove Village. While you’re here at the plant, would you like a tour?”

“That would be nice.”

Everyone rose from the table, shook hands with Bruce, and left to attend to their separate duties. Joe took Bruce to the reception area and arranged for Shannon to take him on a tour.

“When you’re done,” Joe said as he walked toward the stairs, “you might want to try lunch at the little cafe across the street and halfway down the next block. The food is excellent.”

Brad met Joe at the stop of the stairs and asked, "Do you think we overdid it?"

"Not really," Joe replied. "Memory Grove Village may not be quite as idyllic as we painted it, but it doesn't matter to him."

"True. And he needed to understand we really aren't interested in a merger or acquisition or whatever his company really has in mind."

"Exactly. And we didn't tell any outright lies. Very many, anyway. We do want to keep our small-town feel. Our small-town values. And we want to keep local control. No matter how benign their intentions, if we give any authority to people from the outside, they just aren't going to have our best interests at the front of their minds. Not all the time."

****

Meanwhile, in Memory Grove, Guardian stirred. “Yes, Purities,” she whispered. “I have felt his presence and will summon him at once.”

Her movements were graceful, for a troll. At least that’s what everyone always said. Of course, no one in Memory Grove Village had ever seen any other trolls so they had no idea how graceful trolls usually were. She walked north from the center of the grove. As she reached the ring of evergreens, the breeze rose. The tree branches rustled and parted. Guardian walked through them. Memory Grove was only a half mile from Memory Grove Village. Guardian reached the village in less than ten minutes. When Bruce exited Memory Grove Textiles, she was waiting by his car.

“You are expected in the grove, Mr Harrington.” Her voice was unexpectedly musical.

Bruce looked at her. “What?” He did a double-take, but stifled himself before he could blurt out “What are you?” The poor thing must have a congenital defect.

“The grove, Mr Harrington. You are expected.”

“I don’t understand.” He cleared his throat, coughed, and cleared his throat again.

Shannon had stopped at a window to watch Bruce leave. When she saw the troll, she called others to the window. The news spread through the building like wildfire, spilled out the windows and doors and rushed throughout the village. By the time Bruce had uttered the word “understand”, people had started to gather.

“The Purities request your presence, Mr Harrington,” Guardian continued.

“The Purities? What are you talking about? He heard a hubbub of whispering and muttering and looked up with a start. “What in the name of heaven is going on? Where did everyone come from?” He saw everyone he had met from the board of directors of Memory Grove Textiles, as well as Shannon and Ron, watching and whispering with everyone else. He turned to them. “Can you tell me what’s going on?”

Shannon stepped forward. “You are being accorded a great honor. Few people are invited to Remembering Rock in Memory Grove. Those who have been summoned always say it has had a profound effect on their lives. They are never the same.”

Bruce couldn’t remember feeling so out of control since high school. “I don’t want my life to change. I have worked hard for what I have, what I am. I am not going.”

A murmur ran through the crowd.

“Many say they won’t go,” Shannon said, “but they always submit in the end.”

Bruce ran his hands through his hair. He took a deep breath to calm himself. Why am I reacting like this?

He took another deep breath, coughed, and spoke. “Nothing to see here, folks. Move along.” He hoped he sounded calm and unruffled, but he couldn’t tell for sure. No one moved. Not a good sign. He raised his voice. “Go home. Get out of here. Nothing’s happening.”

The crowd was still. “Leave!” he bellowed, bringing on a coughing fit. When it subsided, he swung his head from side to side as if seeking an escape route. There was the troll, sharp in his vision against a backdrop of blurred humanity.

“Come with me,” she said. “I’ll get you out of here.”

“Where—”

“Not to Remembering Rock, don’t worry. There’s plenty of time to sort that out. Right now you need some peace and quiet.”

She took his hand and they slipped away, heading north on the sidewalk, then turning west at the corner and crossing the street. They continued halfway down the block before she stopped and said, “Hungry?”

He realized he was famished and nodded. “I was planning to go eat at—”

“Best place in town to eat,” she said. He looked up. The front of the building proclaimed itself to be “Pat’s Home Cookin’”.

“Pat’s Home Cookin’,” he finished.

He followed her into the café and looked around. It was small, only twelve tables and a wait staff of one. He guessed there was probably only one cook, as well. They sat at the table farthest from the door. The waitress brought menus and glasses of water. Her name tag said Ruth.

“Specials are on the board.” She pointed toward the south side of the room near the kitchen. “If you prefer, you can order from the menu.”

She walked away while Bruce cleared his throat and studied the board of specials. “Boiled Dinner? Never heard of it. Pot Roast. My mother used to make pot roast once a week. Crab Cakes. The best crab cakes I ever had were in Maryland.” He turned to Guardian. “What do you suggest?”

She studied him for a few seconds then said, “Try the boiled dinner.”

“What is it?”

“Just plain food. Nothing fancy.”

They both ordered boiled dinner.

“That was fast,” Bruce said when the waitress delivered the food five minutes later.

“We’re not busy yet, and you ordered specials,” she said.

He looked at his plate. "Let's see...ham, potatoes, carrots, some cabbage, onion, and...what's this, another kind of carrot?"

"Rutabaga."

"Rutabaga. I've never had any before." He tasted it. "It's okay, but I wouldn't walk a mile for it." He sampled the rest of the ingredients. "Mmm, altogether, it's quite tasty."

They attended to their food in silence until it was gone.

“That hit the spot,” Bruce said.

The troll smiled. “Let’s talk about Remembering Rock.”

Bruce stiffened, cleared his throat and coughed.

“Don’t worry. I won’t try to make you go. I just thought you might like to know what it’s all about.”

“Okay,” he said warily, raising his eyebrows.

“I am called Guardian, because I take care of Remembering Rock. I must have had a name, but I can’t remember it. I suppose I have amnesia, but I don’t know what caused it or when it happened. I can’t remember anything but being the Guardian. No one in Memory Grove Village seems to remember anything else about me, either. I don’t know how old I am; I can’t remember growing up. It feels like I’ve been Guardian forever.

“Legend says Remembering Rock was formed many years ago, lifetimes maybe, during a ritual that took place in Memory Grove. Two people, who were destined to carry out the purpose of this ritual, danced around a fire pit in the center of the grove until they turned to stone.”

“That’s ridiculous!” Bruce sputtered.

“Naturally, but the legend exists. And when you see Remembering Rock, you’ll understand how some might believe it.”

“IF I see Remembering Rock.”

“Of course. If. The legend doesn’t provide much for details, but there is a rhyme that has survived over the years. This is it.” Her voice softened and became even more melodious.

“Wing of yang and wing of yin

Loose the memories within

Find the room shut deep inside

Use the key to open wide

“Pain forgotten, let it go

I can do it if I know

Tell me what I need to hear

My salvation will appear”

“Do you know what it means?”

“Over time, this is what I have pieced together. “Wing of yang and wing of yin. Yin and yang, as you may know, represent opposites and the interdependency of all things. Some say they also represent male and female, which I believe is at least part of the intent here. One wing stands for men and the other for women. They represent the belief that humanity cannot soar to its potential unless both wings are fully developed with neither overshadowing or overpowering the other.”

“Interesting concept.”

“Indeed. Now, the room shut deep inside represents someone’s repressed memories that are limiting that person’s potential in some way. The key to opening this room wide is Remembering Rock.

“Pain forgotten is another reference to repressed memories, painful memories. Memories we can’t let go until they are set free by opening that room shut deep inside. We can’t let them go until we know about them. We won’t know about them until we use the key to open the room.

“The last two lines just mean once we know those memories and bring them to light and let them go, we will be free, that’s our salvation.”

“I see. Hmm. Well, that’s as good an interpretation as any, I suppose. I have to say it sounds pretty silly to me.”

Guardian said nothing and they were silent for some time.

Bruce was confused. Why am I even thinking about this? It’s just a crazy fairytale. Maybe I should just go sit on that rock and prove everybody wrong. I don’t understand why perfectly normal people—at least they seem pretty normal—would believe such nonsense. Maybe they don’t. Maybe it’s just an elaborate practical joke. Why would they want to pull such a stunt on me? New man in town, I suppose. No, I won’t fall for it. But it would be interesting to see the grove. And the rock. She mentioned the shape of the rock.

He was surprised how much he wanted to see what the rock looked like.

“Maybe I’ll go,” he said.

Guardian smiled. “Take a day off,” she said. “Have a little vacation. There is much to see in this little town. The Village Theatre is having Midsummer Night’s Dream this month. The actors and crew are all volunteer, but they have amazing talent.”

“I’ve heard about them. I’d love to go. Are you going?”

“Not tonight. But I will see you tomorrow.”

They rose from the table and Bruce went to pay the bill. It was small and he wondered if it had been added correctly.

“Does that include both our meals?”

“No, just yours. Guardian’s is already taken care of.”

“Who—”

“Never mind,” Guardian said. “Now, you’ll need a place for the night. I recommend the Village Inn.”