And so she stayed with Derek.
At the next intersection Alicia turned the Sentra around and headed back to town. The vastness of the rural landscape, the openness, the aloneness, was giving her the creeps. She needed to be around people.
Ten minutes later she wheeled the Sentra into a parking space beside the Red Wing Diner. She wasn’t hungry but needed a drink, and just to be around people, life. As she got out of the car, she spotted an elderly woman pushing a shopping cart down the center of High Street. Cars slowed as they passed her, but not one stopped to offer any kind of assistance.
Alicia knew the woman, Bonnie Bags. She’d been walking the streets of Virginia Mills pushing that same cart for the past fifteen years, since Alicia was in middle school. Bonnie wasn’t homeless—she lived in a dilapidated mobile home just outside of town—but she was delusional. She spent her days wandering the streets, collecting other people’s throwaways. She was crazy and she was alone—two things Alicia wanted desperately to avoid.
After waiting for one car to pass, Alicia crossed the eastbound lane of High Street and approached Bonnie. The woman was hunched at the waist and wore a tattered gray overcoat and worn leather Stetson. Wild, wiry, dirty gray hair, like unruly weeds in a neglected garden, climbed out from under the brim of the hat.
“Bonnie?” Alicia stopped the cart with her hands.
The woman looked up with gray, sad eyes. Her skin was so deeply rutted and creviced, the wrinkles looked like scars.
“Bonnie, you can’t walk down the middle of the road like this. Someone’s likely to not see you, and that wouldn’t be good.”
Bonnie seemed to understand but then said, “Sandra, where did you come from, dear? I thought you’d moved to Chicago? How’s your mother?”
Alicia had no idea who Sandra was. She put her arm around Bonnie’s shoulders. “My name’s Alicia, Bonnie. Come, let’s get you and your cart over to the sidewalk. These cars don’t understand how important you are to this town, and we wouldn’t want one of them getting in your way.”
The old woman cracked a toothless grin and patted Alicia’s hand. “You’re a good girl, Sandra. You always were.” She allowed Alicia to guide her through traffic and to the curb.
Once Bonnie Bags and her cart were safely on the sidewalk, Alicia dug through her purse for a five-dollar bill. She handed it to Bonnie. “Here, get something scrumptious and warm, maybe a hot coffee and piece of pie. And Bonnie, please stay out of the streets, okay? Streets are for cars; sidewalks are for people.”
Bonnie took the five, stared at it, then stuffed it into her pocket. “Thank you, dear. I’ll be sure to tell your mother what a good girl you turned out to be.”
And then she went on her way, pushing her cart and mumbling to herself.
Alicia watched Bonnie go until she was out of sight then turned and entered the diner.
Jim took a bite of his hamburger and chewed it slowly, thoughtfully. He barely tasted it, his thoughts all centered on this girl, this enigma, Louisa. He’d fostered enough troubled kids to recognize the signs of negligent, even abusive parents. Louisa didn’t show any signs of that, thankfully. Her hair and nails were neatly trimmed, her dress and shoes stylish and (he’d checked) of name-brand quality. And her demeanor was that of someone well treated and well educated, upper middle-class. Like an Elizabeth Smart. Could she have been kidnapped? But if so, then where were her parents?
He swallowed what he’d been chewing, washed it down with a gulp of Coke. Louisa was eating her hot dog. She looked so small and thin in her new clothes, so ordinary. But she wasn’t ordinary, was she? Besides all the mystery of her identity, she seemed to know things a nine-year-old dropped out of nowhere shouldn’t know. She acted like she knew about Amy’s miscarriage even before Jim told her about it. How? And how did she know that Amy was suffering from depression? And then there was the strange behavior this morning. What had happened in the bathroom?
Taking another bite of the hamburger, Jim chided himself. She was a child, nothing more. An insightful, intelligent, beautiful child, yes, but still a child. There were plenty of nine-year-olds in the world with her features; actually, they came a dime a dozen. And it didn’t take a psychoanalyst to see that Amy was depressed. As for the miscarriage, maybe Tina had said something before Jim even got there, knowing Miller would ask him to take the child home. And as for her odd behavior, like he’d told Amy, Louisa had been traumatized, ripped from everything familiar, stuck in a burning home, watched a man almost die, and lost her memory. He held no degree in child psychology, but he presumed a little odd behavior wasn’t too unexpected after something like that.
Fact was, she was polite, quiet, thoughtful, and more well behaved than a lot of the men in Virginia Mills. Her parents were lucky people. If she was his child . . .
He stopped himself. Better to not entertain those kinds of thoughts.
“How’s your hot dog?” he said.
Louisa looked at him, her chipmunk cheeks puffed out with food. She’d taken a huge bite and was having difficulty handling it.
“Blink once for delicious, two for ‘tastes like dog food.’”
She blinked once and smiled.
“That’s what I think. They have the best hot dogs in the whole county, maybe the state.” He pretended to think then shrugged. “Probably in the country.”
Louisa nodded her agreement. Finally, after she’d swallowed and drank some Coke, she said, “Maybe in the whole world. Thank you for the treat, Mr. Jim.”
“You’re welcome, Louisa. When we find your parents, don’t tell them how you ate around me. Honestly, waffles and ice cream for breakfast, hot dog and fries for lunch. Terrible. And wait till you see what we’re having for dinner.”
“What?”
“Birthday cake and popsicles.”
“Really?” Her eyes grew to the size of marbles.
“Uh, no. Not really. But maybe we can have cake after dinner.”
“Oh, that sounds good too.”
“Do you remember ever having cake before? Maybe for a birthday?”
She thought for a moment, her eyes focused on nothing in particular, then looked around the diner. “No.” She stared past Jim, behind him, as if she’d noticed a familiar face she’d not seen in a long time. For a few long seconds she stayed fixated on something, then slid off the stool and walked away from the counter.
Jim turned and watched her. He didn’t want to interfere right away; she may have seen something or someone that triggered a memory, and he knew how fickle memories could be. Here one second, gone the next, as fleeting as a flock of birds lifting from a tree and taking to the air. If Louisa was in some kind of state of retrieval, he would let her go and see what came of it.
She wove around tables and down an aisle then stopped at a booth where a young woman sat alone. Jim had seen her around town; she worked as a cashier at the Food Lion.
The girl came out of nowhere. One second Alicia was lost in thoughts about Derek and their life together, his violent tendencies, their future . . . her death, and the next second a child stood by her booth. Cute kid too. Deep, intelligent eyes. Smattering of freckles. Face like an angel. She said nothing at first, and oddly it didn’t bother Alicia. There was nothing awkward about it. This was a child completely comfortable with silence, just like Alicia.
Finally the girl said, “You’re alone, aren’t you?”
Instantly Alicia knew the kid wasn’t just speaking of her presence in the diner. She meant alone in the broadest and deepest sense of the word, alone like being the sole occupier of a deep and lightless valley where no life resided. And she was right, of course. Though she shared an apartment and bed with Derek, and though they occasionally had a conversation or went out to eat together, she was indeed alone, and her aloneness was a wound that would not heal. Her health, both mental and physical, had deteriorated as well. She suffered in solitude, cried in the dark of the night, longed for death . . .
There was something about th
is girl, though, that spoke of honesty and goodness, something that welcomed the truth, that said it was all right to remove the mask and reveal one’s wounds. Through tight vocal cords Alicia said, “Yes. So very alone.”
A tear formed in the corner of the girl’s eye, and she lifted her hand, such a small, frail hand, and placed it on Alicia’s. “You’re never alone. He’s with you.”
Alicia was transfixed by the girl’s gaze. Though the diner was filled with chatting patrons and scurrying waitresses, she paid no attention to any of it. It was as if a veil had been dropped around her and this remarkable girl and they had been shielded from the prying eyes of the others.
“Who?” she said.
The girl’s hand was warm; it radiated a comfortable heat that relaxed Alicia.
“God.”
God. Not once in her life had Alicia reached out to God. She supposed He was real, she had no cause to believe otherwise, but He was so distant, so “out there,” and seemed so unconcerned with her problems. If God was indeed real, He was a wealthy grandfather who lived a continent away in a strange land and never bothered to extend His graces to those who really needed them. Why would she think of Him?
“God isn’t bothered with me.” She kept her voice low. “He doesn’t know of my pain.”
“He does know, and He hurts with you. He loves you more than you could ever love Him back.”
She spoke like no child Alicia had ever encountered before. But the words she spoke, such words of comfort, warmed her and brought a spark of hope.
Alicia tried to say something back but found she was speechless.
The girl’s eyes penetrated her, probed deep into her soul where no one had ever ventured before. Alicia was sure the kid saw every wound, every hurt, every fear there. She expected the girl to turn in repulsion, or laugh and deride her for her lousy life, but instead she said, “You’re so full of light. You shine goodness and kindness. God wants to use you. He will use you. His love will heal your sores and give you new life and purpose. But you need to let Him . . . because if you don’t . . . ”
Something appeared in the girl’s eyes then, shock and confusion. She knew something, had seen something. The innocence was gone, and Alicia saw something there that terrified her. Alicia yanked her hand away, slipped out of the booth, and bolted for the exit.
She had to find Derek.
Chapter 14
THAT EVENING AT dinner Amy said little. She was still upset about the shower incident and Louisa’s refusal to admit she was in the bathroom. A strange child, indeed. On the surface she was a cute enough kid and seemed to possess a certain poise. She was polite (even in disagreement), gentle, and soft-spoken. Whoever her parents were, they must be a family of means and high standing in society. Louisa was obviously raised to be a child seen and seldom heard, yet encouraged to speak her mind when asked but in a respectful and dignified way. She did not appear to be smug or wise-cracking, nor was she uppity. Her manners and movements were refined and delicate, the stuff of cultural polishing. She’d no doubt lived a good life.
And yet there was a quality about her that went against the finely smoothed grain of the higher levels of society. She possessed humility, such humility, in fact, that it almost came across as contrived, only it was apparent that there was nothing phony about it. She cared more about the plight of others than for her own disheartening dilemma. She had eyes that could see past her own situation, her own wants and even needs, and focus on the heart of another—a rare quality for anyone, but especially one so apparently privileged in life.
Amy wondered why Louisa’s parents hadn’t shown up yet. A family with money would certainly have the resources and clout to bring a ton of attention to the disappearance of their daughter. She remembered the media attention the Smarts stirred when their daughter Elizabeth went missing. Where were the TV cameras, the news anchors, the crying mother and father pleading for the safe return of their sweet little daughter?
Something about this whole ordeal didn’t sit right with Amy. Something was off. Louisa, while appearing to be nothing more than a precious girl lost or abandoned, was an oddity. Amy had a strange feeling about her, like Louisa knew more than she was putting on, like she was familiar in some weird way, or at least that the Spencers were familiar to her. She was more than just a lost child, Amy was sure of that.
Amy had made chicken Parmesan for dinner, and halfway through the meal a knock came at the door.
“Who could that be?” Amy said.
Jim put down his fork. “I’ll get it.”
He stood, crossed the house, and opened the door. Amy heard the familiar voice of Jake Tucker.
“Sorry to bother you, Jim. I know you folks are probably in the middle of dinner, but I was wonderin’ if I might see the girl. Wanted to thank her in person for what she done.”
“No bother at all,” Jim said. “Come right in.” The door closed. “How are you feeling?”
“Never better, actually. Doc says the old ticker is as strong as it ever was. Lungs are clear too.”
A second later they both appeared in the entryway to the dining room.
Amy stood and hugged Jake. “Jake, it’s so good to see you. Jim told me everything that happened. I’m glad you’re okay, but I’m sorry about your home.”
Jake shrugged it off. “Nah, that’s just stuff; none of it really matters.” He turned and looked at Louisa, and his face visibly brightened. “There she is.” He knelt beside her chair. “You helped save my life, you know. Of course you know. Listen to me, talkin’ like a fool of a old man.”
Kneeling there with one hand on the table and the other over his heart, Jake Tucker looked to be thirty years younger and healthier. Full of life and vigor, he resembled a medieval knight bowing before his queen, offering her his undying allegiance.
He swallowed and cleared his throat. “I called Raymond.” He paused and smiled as if awaiting her response, her praise, but she said nothing.
“We talked for nearly an hour,” he said.
Amy glanced at Jim, caught his eye. He appeared to be just as in the dark as she was. She knew Raymond was Jake’s son, though Jake had never talked about him. And she knew they had some kind of falling out quite a few years ago. In a small town nobody had secrets.
“We talked.” Jake said it like a miracle had taken place right there in the little village of Virginia Mills. A solitary tear spilled from his eye and tracked down his cheek, following a laugh line to his jaw. “He asked for my forgiveness, and do you know what I did?”
Louisa smiled. It was a genuine smile, honest and pure, and for an instant Amy caught herself adoring the girl. Apparently she knew something of Jake and Raymond’s relationship, but how?
“I forgave him. Yes, I did. Then I asked him to forgive me. After all these years that wall came down. And you know what? He’s comin’ to visit me next month.” Jake cupped Louisa’s small hand in both of his and shook it. He was a big man with big farmer hands that swallowed hers. “My Raymond is comin’ home.”
Louisa smiled, and her blue eyes seemed to flash like splashes of the purest cerulean water. “You’re a good man, Mr. Tucker,” she said. “And God has a lot more for you to do.”
Jake stood and released Louisa’s hand. He looked at Jim, then at Amy. He smoothed his shirt, massaged his hands. There were tears in his eyes. “Folks, I’m sorry for interrupting your dinner, really. I just had to see Louisa. If there’s anything I can do, anything to help find her family, please let me know.”
“Won’t you stay?” Amy said. “We have plenty.”
“Thanks, but Angela over at the Red Wing said I could eat there for free anytime I want until I get settled in somewhere again. I told her I’d be there tonight, and she’s expecting me.”
“With a hearty appetite, no doubt.”
Jim saw Jake to the front door. When the two men left, Louisa slipped from her seat and approached Amy. The set of her jaw, the posture of her lips held no expression, but her eyes were w
ild and expectant. Momentarily Amy thought of getting up and joining Jim and Jake in the living room. She didn’t want to be alone with the girl.
At Amy’s side Louisa reached out and placed her hand on Amy’s, the same hand that rested on her abdomen just this morning. It was warm and soft. The girl said nothing, but her eyes spoke volumes. There was no fear in them, not even a trace, but rather uncertainty, a questioning that was both profound and awful. She’d been ripped from her family, survived a burning house, placed with total strangers, and had heard nothing of any kind of search effort to find her. Looking at her like that, Amy felt something she hadn’t felt toward another person for six months, an emotion reserved only for herself: pity.
She put her free hand on top of Louisa’s. “You don’t have to be a—”
Her words and the pity were clipped short by a sudden brilliant vision of all her life could have been. Should have been. Herself standing in a nursery, the nursery they’d set up, with a child, a baby, her little girl. She was holding her and rocking her. Singing her a lullaby while she kissed her velveteen skin. She looked so happy, so content, like she had everything she needed in life. All her sorrow and remorse and hurt were gone.
She ripped her hand away and stood abruptly. “Help me clear the table.”
Her voice was cold.
Chapter 15
HAVING SPENT THE day securing the cellar, boarding the windows, and constructing a small room in one corner that would become the Appletons’ home for the next week, the man, the Mitch Albright, took one final stroll through the large farmhouse before heading out. The sun had set an hour ago, and the soft glow from table lamps and floor lamps in each room gave the place a very homey feel.
Yes, this was a place Mitch could call home. It was everything he ever wanted in a home, and certainly more of a home than the rotten apartment he currently resided in. He imagined himself sitting by the fireplace, reading a good book, maybe smoking a cigar, with his dog sleeping on the floor beside him. Nobody would bother him here; nobody would disrespect him. In fact, if he allowed himself to, he could almost imagine that this was his home, that Bob and Clare were his grandparents, that they’d not been killed in a terrible car accident, that it had all been a horrible misunderstanding and they were here, on the farm, waiting all these years for their Mitch to return. And now fate had drawn him back to the place where he belonged, to the farm where he should have been properly raised, where he should have been loved and respected.
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