Searching for Rose

by Dana Becker

  She saw the boot first. For one brief second, it flashed next to the barn door, and was gone. But she’d seen it. Her heart raced. Someone was in there.

  The feelings suddenly took over. The feelings she never told anyone about. The feelings she barely admitted to herself.

  It’s him, she thought. Who else?

  And the feeling that came with that thought wasn’t fear or dread or horror. Rather, it was the feeling that lurked on the other side of fear; it was where fear leaves you when it is done with you. It was agitation and excitement. It was the painful pleasure of anticipation. And with it, a spiral of irrational thoughts. He’s come for me. He promised he would, and now he’s making good on it. They say he’s evil. But I know the truth. He’s special. He sees me for who I am. He’ll bring me back to the Compound. Back to the Community. Back home.

  For a moment Rose savored these secret thoughts, savored this moment, allowed her heart to clench with anticipation at the thought that she would be restored to the good graces of Whitey. She stood up and set herself squarely in the middle of the window, to see better. Who cared if he saw her? Rose wanted to be seen. She stared out the window. She bored her eyes into that barn door, trying to will it open, to reveal him, to reveal herself to him.

  I’m here, she whispered in the dark, to him.

  She considered turning around, running downstairs, and flying out the door. Running to him and taking nothing with her. Begging for his forgiveness, begging to be brought back home.

  “Rose.”

  She jumped, and bumped her head against the window frame.

  “Didn’t mean to startle you,” April said, standing behind her, leaning against the doorpost.

  “It’s okay,” Rose said over her shoulder, but still looking outside.

  Outside, the fullness of the dark had drained away. It no longer shimmered. Now it just seemed empty and quiet on the lawn. And Rose’s secret thoughts evaporated, too. For a brief, lucid second, she felt guilty about her excitement to see Whitey again. But just as quickly the guilt was also gone—forgotten, as though it, and the thoughts that caused it, had never existed to begin with. It was as if she had just woken up and immediately forgotten the dream she was having.

  Seeing her sister’s tired, worried face brought her back to the moment. She smiled.

  “Don’t worry, Ri,” Rose said. “Just having some trouble sleeping.”

  And when she saw the skeptical, sad look on her sister’s face, she added, “I’m fine. Really. I’m okay. I’ll be asleep in a minute. You don’t need to tuck me in.”

  “Joseph said he saw you looking out the window,” April said.

  “Oh, that was him out there. Well, I’m allowed to look out the window, right?”

  “He said you looked . . .” April didn’t finish the sentence, and seemed to regret bringing it up.

  “Tired?” said Rose. “Well, yeah, I am. And, anyway, maybe I was looking out the window because your dude was creeping around in the middle of the night.”

  April sighed.

  “You’re right. He shouldn’t do that.”

  “What was he doing out there?”

  “We—or, I . . . tonight was my night—I forgot to secure the coop. Joe saw a coyote out there, and ran over to get things right before there was trouble. Got there just in time.”

  After they said their good-nights, Rose climbed back into bed. And just as she drifted off to sleep, she heard voices. It was April again, and Joseph. She could hear their voices coming through the grate in the floor. They must have been in the kitchen, right below her room. Her body was heavy, and already succumbing to sleep. But her head guided itself to the edge of the bed. She flopped over, facedown, so that her ear was poised right at the edge.

  “So,” she heard April say, “what was it?”

  And then Joseph’s lower voice, muffled, said something.

  “Are you sure?” April said. “It was him?”

  Joseph coughed. He either didn’t answer, or he was pausing, or Rose simply couldn’t hear him. Rose could feel herself drifting headlong into sleep.

  “I don’t know,” Joseph said. She was struggling to stay awake. And, as sleep finally carried her away, she thought she heard him add, “But it was someone.”

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Dana Becker was born in Jerusalem and raised in Ohio, in a home where tradition and faith were everything. Dana spent many summers in the middle of Amish country in Western Pennsylvania, getting to know Amish neighbors and their ways. Today Becker lives in Michigan and spends time mostly taking orders from a newborn daughter, eagerly awaiting the day when she is old enough to pick out her very own pet puppy.