And Then She Was Gone

by Noonan, Rosalind

  Her eyes on the curling light in the sky, Lauren was only half-listening. “Mac’s out there, somewhere, under the same moon.”

  Sierra oohed as she breathed in. “That is the sweetest thing, and it’s true, too. Mom was obsessed with finding you. I can see her looking at the moon with longing. You’re so wise.”

  “I didn’t just think of it. When I was first kidnapped, back in the first few months, I used to stare at the moon and think of Mom, looking up at the sky at the same moon. I was sure she was thinking of me.”

  “She was!” Sierra insisted. “She was a crazy person, looking for you.”

  “Then why didn’t she find me?” Lauren asked in a small, monotone voice.

  “I don’t know. Nobody knows. And when they found you so close to home . . . ,” Sierra picked up her stuffed elephant and stroked its silky ears. “We all felt awful about that.”

  Me too, Lauren thought, a bitter taste at the back of her throat.

  “Lauren? Can I ask you a question?”

  “Of course.” Lauren propped her head on one hand.

  “Why didn’t you leave?”

  A scrim of annoyance glazed Lauren’s eyes, but when she looked over at her sister, Sierra’s face was awash with sincerity.

  “You could have climbed the fence and walked home.”

  “I didn’t know that. I didn’t know where I was. He covered me with a blanket every time we went in and out of the compound.”

  “But what about the times at the Saturday market . . . or the state fair? There’s always police at those things, and you could have gone up to someone and told them that you’d been kidnapped.”

  Help me, please! My name is Lauren O’Neil and this man kidnapped me. Please, get me away from here before he comes back!

  “I tried, in the beginning. I screamed and hollered and kicked and punched him. But he . . . he threatened to kill me. He was going to let me drop into the ocean, down deep.” Her lower lip jutted out. “And I was afraid you guys would never even find my body!”

  “Lauren, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

  “It’s okay. You need to know why, and I’m supposed to talk about it.” As much as you can stand, Wynonna always said. Mom and Dad had been allowed to see all those videotaped interviews, so they knew it all, but Lauren had learned that sometimes Sierra was overlooked, kept away from the harsh truth because of her age. “I know people are confused about it. There were stories about me being a runaway, but that’s not true. Not at all. I wanted to get away. I wanted to come home, but he made me believe that could never happen.” She swallowed. “Wynonna says that the same thing happens to most victims. There’s this sort of brainwashing, and the kidnapper keeps reminding you that you need him to stay alive.”

  “Was he mean?”

  “Not always, but yeah. I realize now that he was very self-centered. When I was drawing portraits and the customers complimented me on my work, Kevin got mad. He couldn’t deal with me getting more attention than him.”

  Sierra’s eyes were wide with amazement. “Did he ever tie you up?”

  “He handcuffed me in the beginning. My wrists were bound and I was locked into a room. It was hard to move, hard to pee and all that stuff. When he finally let me sleep without those uncomfortable handcuffs, I was so grateful that I didn’t want to do anything to lose that privilege. There were a few times when I thought I might be able to get away. I made it over the fence once, but by the time I got to the creek, he was there. He beat me, usually with a wrench, on my ankle. It was a spot that could be covered up with leg warmers and granny dresses if I had to go out in public. I learned not to try and get away. It wasn’t worth the pain. And then . . . by the time I got to leave the compound for fairs and stuff, I was pregnant with Mac. I didn’t think anyone would want me if I escaped and made it home.”

  “How could you think that with all the searches going on all the time?”

  “I didn’t know about that.” Lauren plopped back on to the bed and stared at the wall, which was painted a pretty shade of peacock green. “I didn’t know anything.”

  Sierra came over and sat on the floor by the bed, eye to eye with Lauren. “You’re a brave girl. I used to be jealous of you, but I got over it.”

  “Jealous of me? Why?”

  “Can’t you see it? Mom and Dad are obsessed with you. Mom gave up her teaching job for two years because she wanted to spend all her time focusing on the search.”

  “She did?” It was the first time Lauren heard that part.

  “Yup. The only reason she went back was because the therapist told her she needed a distraction from the search. She called her obsessive.”

  “Wynonna said that?”

  “The other therapist. Avery something. She had a slippery leather couch and a big tree dying outside her window. Yeah, they made me go too. I was so bored, I used to wish that tree would die already and come crashing through the window during our session.”

  Therapy? She hadn’t thought of them needing therapy while she was gone. She had suffered alone, but her family had also gone through a lot, missing her.

  “I know Mom can be a pain in the ass,” Sierra said with that language that always caught Lauren’s attention. “But she does mean well. She loves you a lot.”

  As Lauren bunched the pillow under her head, the image came to her in a flash.

  That mother and baby she had painted in the cabin: at the time she had thought she was painting Mac and her, but it could have just as easily been Mom and her. Mom knew what she was feeling, her little girl torn from her side. She rolled over and groaned. Why couldn’t she let her mom love her?

  Chapter 41

  Leaning her elbows on the kitchen island, Rachel pretended to read the front page of the Oregonian as Lauren sat at the counter, digging around in a large bowl of oatmeal. Rachel looked at her watch, trying to think of a subtle way of hurrying Lauren along.

  “I should get going. I want to catch Heather before the students arrive,” Rachel said.

  “But I want to go with you.” Lauren pressed a napkin to her mouth and looked down at the bowl with some distress.

  “Honey, are you full? You don’t have to finish that.”

  “I hate to waste it. Dad makes good oatmeal.”

  “But look at the size of that bowl!” Grinning, Rachel hoisted it to the light. “Weighs a ton. Your dad served you a supersize portion. He so enjoys feeding you, but he’s got a thing or two to learn about portion control.”

  Lauren smiled with relief. “As long as he’s not mad.”

  “First of all, he will never know.” Rachel scraped the remainder into the sink and ran the water. “Besides, you don’t need to force yourself to eat something to please someone else. When you feel full, you can excuse yourself from the table.”

  Lauren slid off the barstool and smoothed down her black cotton skirt. What a transformation. Her skin had taken on a golden glow, despite plenty of sunscreen. Rachel’s stylist had trimmed her split ends and cut side bangs that framed her delicate features. Her face had filled out so that her high cheekbones and her broad smile replaced that wan, ghostly look.

  Such a beauty, inside and out, Rachel thought wistfully.

  Lauren shifted uncomfortably. “Mom?” Lauren scraped back her hair and let it swing down her back. “What’s wrong?”

  Caught staring, Rachel turned away and grabbed her keys from the rack by the door. “Just smitten with you. Sorry, but I’ve got a few years to make up for, and you are a wonderful sight.”

  “Sometimes you embarrass me,” Lauren said.

  “Sorry, but I do believe that’s part of a parent’s role.” Rachel felt almost giddy as she backed out of the driveway with Lauren beside her in the passenger seat. The beautiful young woman sitting shotgun was her daughter! Rachel couldn’t remember such a feeling of freedom and independence since she’d gotten her driver’s license.

  Something had shifted—the planets, the invisible barriers between them—and the r
esentment Lauren had felt for her was fading. Although Rachel remained on guard against her desire to take control of everything, she felt generally at ease with the even flow of conversation and the change in their household. No, things were not perfect, but no family ever was, and in her time with Wynonna she had learned that the lead horse of the herd had to pick her battles.

  The Little Red Schoolhouse was quaint, a residential building that had been converted to a school with offices upstairs. Rachel cruised past the building and found a spot on the street, knowing that the parking lot would fill up at drop-off time.

  “Are you coming inside with me?” Rachel asked. Sensing Lauren’s insecurity, she added, “I’m sure Heather would like to meet you. She’s a friend. We used to teach together before she switched to early childhood education.”

  Reluctantly, Lauren came along, following Rachel dutifully and shaking hands with Heather.

  “I met you and your sister when you were little at a backyard barbecue, but you probably don’t remember. I think you were more engrossed in Popsicles and Supersoakers,” Heather teased, rolling up the sleeves of her bright red shirt.

  There was a flicker of response in Lauren’s eyes. “I do remember the Supersoaker phase.” She smiled. “I was always getting in trouble for drenching Sierra.”

  As the women sat down together on tiny chairs, Lauren wandered the classroom, checking out the paintings on the wall and the various play stations.

  “I’m looking for information on the registration process,” Rachel said.

  “Oh?” Heather’s eyebrows shot up. “Do you have a little one on the way?”

  “Not exactly. I’m wondering how much accountability you have to the Board of Ed with children in your school. I’m not asking for confidential information. Just wondering what you need to supply.”

  “That’s simple. They want the birth certificate and immunization record.”

  Rachel nodded. That would be helpful. If Mac, who was turning four September first, was going to attend school in Oregon, she would need a birth certificate, either real or fraudulent.

  “Oh, and you know about the photo records now, right? We now put a copy of the child’s school photo in their file. It’s something that law-enforcement agencies advised. Helps them track missing children.”

  “Really?” Rachel’s eyes went wide as possibilities opened like a lens. Could Hank or the FBI agents get copies of all those photos—all the preschool children registered in Oregon schools—so that Lauren could look through them? Oh, maybe this would be the most direct way to find Mac! And what about the state of Washington . . . and California, and Idaho?

  “Does the state have a database of this information?” Rachel asked.

  Heather picked up a crayon from under a cushion as she considered. “That I don’t know.”

  “I can find out.” Rachel would talk to Hank.

  “What’s this about? Or am I being too nosey?”

  “I can’t really say right now.” Rachel was watching Lauren make her way through the room, restacking blocks and looking through picture books. Outside, she heard the chipmunk voices of children greeting the other teacher. “But I appreciate your help. And I guess we’d better get going. I think some of your students are here.”

  “No problem.” Heather rose and joined Lauren over at the sand table. “What do you think, Lauren? Does it bring back memories from when you were in pre-K?”

  “I know a little girl who would love this,” Lauren said fervently.

  “And we’ll get her here,” Rachel promised. There were photos . . . files . . . birth certificates to be checked. A child could be stolen, but she could not live in isolation forever. Mac would be enrolled in a school, somewhere, and as soon as she was brought forward, they would snatch her back.

  Chapter 42

  From Lauren’s Journal

  There is a nursery school nearby that is so cute! My heart melted a little when Mom took me there so that she could talk to the woman who runs it about checking to see if Mac is registered for school in the fall. Rachel is really smart with things like that. I’m glad I got up the nerve to ask her to help search for Mac. But the school—they have a sand table where you can build things with squishy sand. There are regular blocks and Legos. There’s a reading corner with a big Winnie the Pooh chair to sit in. There’s a theater to do little puppet shows and a mini kitchen so Mac could pretend to make me a meal. Mac loves pretending.

  It’s funny, but I forgot that my mom is a teacher. I know she teaches older kids in junior high, but hearing her talk to the lady about the little kids, it reminded me just how good Mom is with kids. I know that I’ve backed away from her a lot, but that’s mostly because she needed to see me as an adult, not a little kid anymore. But seeing the way Mom talked to the little kids who were coming into the nursery school, I could just imagine her with Mac. They will really get a charge out of each other. I don’t know why I ever worried about Mom and Dad accepting my little girl. That was probably Kevin’s negative voice whispering in my ear.

  Here’s the big thing: Seeing that little schoolhouse, it was the first time I could see Mac living here on Wildwood Lane and having her own little place to go. I’m letting my heart and mind believe that this is going to happen, because I want to be positive. Wynonna says that sometimes we can make our dreams come true, but that we have to create the dream first. Well, that’s my dream. Mac playing with other kids in the yard of the little red schoolhouse. When I saw that school, I began to see possibilities for Mac. I just hope and wish that I am seeing the future.

  Chapter 43

  Dan and Lauren led the brown stallion known as Hero around the arena against a sky split into two. Overhead, the bright expanse of pale blue was streaked by fast-moving clouds. In the distance, a field of gray and purple swarmed like a cauldron—a brewing storm that looked spectacular from this safe distance.

  For three weeks they had been participating in family therapy at Spirit Ranch. This time of year the sessions were held outside under the bold, blue Oregon summer sky. Even Dan, therapy skeptic, had been won over by the clear-eyed therapist, the magnificent surroundings, and, of course, the horses.

  Their family sessions included a group forum in which they took turns sharing their thoughts and concerns while wearing a ridiculous horse hat. They also spent time on group exercises, often activities as simple as rolling a ball to play catch with one of the horses. If they wanted to play, the horses would manage to nose or kick the ball back across the corral. The Eaglesons’ dog, Ludwig, a canine Michael Jordan, often nosed his way into the activity, making it a threesome. This game could be a real gut-buster, especially because Ludwig was tireless when it came to jumping up in the air to return a flying ball. Some of the horses didn’t care for the ball activity, but once Lud got involved, they usually got sucked in to the fun.

  Besides the group meets, there were private sessions that allowed each person to work on a goal with a partner horse. Early on, Wynonna had matched each family member with a horse. Lauren worked with wise, slow-moving Yoda. Sierra was on a mission to break Penny, the pony, of her habit of always following other horses around the corral. “If the other horses jumped off a cliff, would you follow?” Sierra asked the pony, sounding like very much like a parent. “The answer is yes,” Wynonna said, “but we’re going to work on adapting that behavior.” Rachel was assigned Flicker, the giant draft horse who was the self-appointed boss of the herd. And Dan was getting to know Hero, a chocolate brown stallion with a touch of neuroticism.

  Usually Hero was a willing partner, but when he got spooked, he bucked and jumped a few steps. Your basic horse freak-out. And any sudden noise or movement could set Hero off, including a flapping tarp, a piece of trash blowing in the wind, or the noise of a motorcycle or thunderclap. Wynonna told them of horses who got spooked by things as basic as mailboxes or puddles. “You can imagine what a challenge they are to ride.” She also explained that Hero’s reaction to his fear had improved. “He
used to go galloping off when he was frightened. Now, as you see, he’ll react, but not as violently.”

  Violent or not, when a half-ton of horse started jumping around, you did not want to be in the same corral. So Wynonna and Jazz had been teaching Dan how to manage Hero better in a crisis.

  “Horses are linear thinkers,” Wynonna had explained in the first days of working with Hero. “They can only focus on one thing at a time. So if we can get Hero to think about doing something else when he gets spooked, even if it’s just looking down or turning to the side, he’ll be dealing with his fear in an acceptable way.”

  “A lot of people try to soothe their horse when it gets spooked,” Jazz had said. “People try to pat the horse and tell him it’s okay, but that really just tells the horse that it’s good to get spooked.”

  The therapist had outlined three steps to help Hero modify his behavior.

  “First, we want to redirect Hero’s focus when he gets spooked. It would also be good to teach him a cue to calm him down. Maybe we could teach him to turn away or drop his head to the ground when he gets scared. Horses don’t rear or jump around when they have their head to the ground. And the third factor is the rider, who needs to stay calm when Hero gets spooked. The more confident you are, the more confident and brave he will be.”

  Dan loved the logic of the training. “But I’m a little confused,” he’d said to Wynonna. “Who’s in therapy here, me or the horse?”

  Her dark eyes gazed out over the horizon as if to say that the answer was in the clouds, the sky, and the mountains.

  So far, Dan had mastered the art of controlling his horse from the ground. He had learned how to get Hero to stop and put his head to the ground instead of rocking and stamping around when the horse was afraid.

  But today Wynonna had wanted to expand the lesson by bringing in Lauren. That pleased Dan, who had admitted to being a tad envious when Rachel, with her superior riding abilities, had started riding with Lauren. He wanted that same closeness with the daughter who had disappeared as a girl and returned as a woman.