by Patricia Fry
“Good idea.” Shelly stood up in her stirrups and shaded her eyes. “Looks like those guys are leaving the area. Good. Where I want to take you is just around that bend. Come on,” she said cheerfully.
After several minutes, they left the trail and reined their mounts up a knoll overlooking a small river. “Oh, isn’t it pretty back in here?” Savannah said. She glanced around. “It’s kind of like an oasis in a bleak landscape.”
“Yes isn’t it? Let’s hobble the horses in that clearing, take our cameras, and walk down to the creek, shall we? There are often deer in that meadow,” she whispered. “That’s where I got that great shot of the coyote.”
“I’m game. Want a slug of water first? And I have granola bars,” Savannah offered, digging them out of her backpack.
Shelly thought for a moment, then motioned toward the bars. “I’ll split one of those with you. Yeah, let’s hydrate before we head out.”
****
“That was great,” Savannah said as the two women rode back toward the trailhead later in the morning.
“Yes, it was a good day for shooting. I think that close-up of the beaver you got on top of the dam with the waterfall behind it could be a winner, Savannah. I loved the technique you used to get that shot. I hope you’ll teach it to the kids.”
“Sure.” She chuckled. “I learned it from my cat.”
“From your cat?” she asked, looking confused.
“Yeah, sometimes when I try to take Rags’s picture, he has this uncanny ability of darting precisely at the moment I shoot. So I’ve learned to shoot ahead of my target. My first shot often gets his attention and my second shot—if I’m fast enough—will sometimes catch the action or the attitude I want.” She turned in her saddle to face Shelly. “I love the shot you got of the hawk flying over. The glint of light around his finger-feathers was perfect.”
Shelly laughed. “Finger-feathers?”
“Yeah. Those wing feathers look like fingers, don’t you think? Was that a red-tailed hawk?”
“I think it was.” Suddenly, Shelly reined in her horse. “Hey, looks like those guys are back. Gads, they’re coming this way. Will their bikes spook your mare?”
Savannah paused. “I don’t think so, unless they do something crazy.”
“Well, sit tight. Let’s see what they have in mind.”
As the grungy men on the dirt bikes pulled closer, they shut down their motors and nodded to the women. “Howdy,” the tall, lean one said. “What’re you ladies doin’ out here?”
Shelly responded, “Just trail riding.”
“Got any booze?” the shorter one asked, grinning.
Shelly grimaced and shook her head.
“We do,” the taller one said, displaying a mouth full of tobacco-yellowed teeth. “Wanna party?”
“No,” Shelly said sharply. “In fact, we’re meeting our husbands here in a few minutes. They’re on horseback. They’re not carrying alcohol, either.”
The two men glanced at each other, the taller one rocking back and forth as if trying to decide his next move. Promptly, he started the bike and turned it around to head in the direction they’d come from. That’s when Savannah noticed a young boy about seven years old sitting behind the rider.
She glanced at Shelly and looked at the boy again. Who is he? she wondered. The son of one of these men? Why isn’t he wearing a helmet out here in this rocky terrain? All of a sudden she realized the shorter man was talking to them.
“Hey, does Scaif know you’re out here?”
“Who’s Scaif?” Shelly asked.
“The property owner. Well, does he? Cause we work fer him and he didn’t tell us no one was comin’ out here today.”
Shelly looked around the area, scowling. “Property owner?”
“Yeah,” the taller man said, “…like a homesteader. He moved in and now he owns the land.” When he noticed Savannah staring at the boy, he revved up his bike, saying, “Hey, we’d better skedaddle before their husbands get here.” He shot forward, causing the boy’s head to snap back as the child quickly grabbed the man around his waist. The other rider also took off at high speed, performing a wheelie in the soft dirt.
“Wow, I haven’t had an invitation like that in a while,” Shelly said, laughing nervously. “I was a little concerned at first, until I remembered this.” She pulled her hand out of her jacket pocket, the bear spray canister clutched tightly in her fist. She was quiet for a moment, then said, “Homesteader? Is that guy delusional? People don’t homestead in this day and age, do they?”
“I don’t think so,” Savannah agreed.
As the two women continued heading toward where they’d parked the truck and trailer rig, Savannah asked, “Who do you suppose that little boy is? Do you think he belongs to one of those guys?”
Shelly shook her head. “I don’t know. I wondered about that. Didn’t seem like the type of fellows who should be entrusted with a young boy, even if one of them is the father…know what I mean?”
Savannah nodded. “The boy didn’t seem to be having much fun.”
“I noticed that,” Shelly agreed. “He looked a little frightened. But I can tell you, Savannah, some of this county’s children are in frightening situations—even with their own parents or stepparents—and there seems to be no way out for them until they grow up and start making their own decisions.” She shook her head slowly. “Some never make it out.”
“Good God, you mean they…?”
Shelly sighed deeply. “Too many of them become conditioned and they carry the ignorance forward. They don’t know anything but violence, abuse, welfare, and disrespect.”
Savannah lowered her brow. “It sounds like you’ve witnessed some heartbreaking stuff. Is this through the course of your teaching?”
Shelly turned to face Savannah, who followed behind her on a narrow stretch of trail. She rested her hand on her horse’s hindquarters. “Yeah, we get all kinds at our school. It’s actually a good mix of students, but some are certainly in what I would call substandard situations.”
When the trail widened, Savannah caught up to Shelly. “So what about the girls in the photography program; what kind of challenges do they face?”
“Like the boys, they don’t have much positive parental involvement for a variety of reason. Two of the girls live with people other than their own family and one is pretty much the caretaker in her family. She’s the oldest of eight children. Her parents are strung out on drugs or alcohol most of the time and your tax dollars support their habit.” She turned to Savannah. “Your little girl is so lucky to have you, Dr. Mike, and extended family members who love her and know how to take care of her. Not every child is so fortunate.” Shelly paused, then continued, “One little girl, Marissa, seems to have had nothing but misfortune her whole life. She’s crippled. She lives in what seems to be a rather unstable foster situation.” She shook her head as if to remove negative thoughts, and smiled at Savannah. “Marissa is one of the sweetest beings you’ll ever want to meet, yet life has dealt her such a wicked hand. She’s bright. She has the biggest heart and a dazzling smile…how that little thing overcomes all the crap she’s had to endure is beyond me.”
“Gosh, what’s her affliction?”
“She was either born with a deformity or…” she grimaced “…something happened to her when she was very young and she didn’t get the proper medical care. I believe it’s correctable, but so far no one has been interested in getting her any help.” She bit her lower lip and looked at Savannah. “For the life of me, I don’t know how Marissa ended up with this family—how the Cottons finagled their way into the foster system. Some of the children Mavis Cotton cares for…” Shelly chuckled. “…I should say, doesn’t care for…may be her own.” She thought for a moment, then said, “Actually, I’m not even sure she’s in the system, but I’m certain she’s getting money for these children, otherwise I doubt very much if she and her deadbeat husband would have them
in their home.”
“How many children are there?” Savannah asked.
Shelly scrunched up her face in thought. “Maybe six—a few older than Marissa, who is ten, and a few younger.”
“So there’s a father figure in the house?”
“Yes, if you’d call him that.” Shelly hesitated and stared off into the distance.
“What is it?” Savannah asked. “Is this child being abused?”
“Not so anyone notices,” Shelly said, “but I believe something is wrong there. Maybe neglect is closer to the truth, which, in my book, is abuse. Marissa is not thriving and I think there’s a reason why, only…”
“Only what?”
“Only, I haven’t been able to find out what it is.” She turned abruptly toward Savannah. “You know, Marissa’s affliction is in her legs. They’re crooked and she has trouble walking. One day Mavis Cotton pretty much bragged to me that it’s easier to take care of a kid who can’t run away from her. Now what kind of attitude is that?”
Savannah frowned. “Oh, surely she was making a bad joke.”
Shelly narrowed her eyes and shook her head. “I don’t think so, Savannah. There’s something wrong in that family; I just know it.” She looked squarely at her. “I’m concerned for Marissa’s life—for her future on this planet.”
“Wow! Where are her parents?” Savannah asked.
Shelly set her jaw. “The rumor is that her mother died from a drug overdose shortly after Marissa was born. They lived in Frisco at the time. Somehow the child and her father landed here, but he may still have ties in the city. He evidently spends half his time on the streets and the rest in jail.”
“Sounds like something that would occur in the underground of a big city, doesn’t it? How did you get this information, anyway? Does the child talk to you about her home life?”
Shelly shook her head. “No, she doesn’t say much.” She took a deep breath before explaining, “I used to date a man in the DA’s office. He had a special interest in this little girl before he was killed.”
“He was killed?”
“Yeah, run down in the streets of San Francisco one night last June while out jogging.” She wiped at her eyes, then looked at Savannah. “He was there to inquire about Marissa, actually. I think he was close to finding her father and untangling some of the truths about the Cottons. He sent me a text before he died and I’ve been trying to figure out a way to get Marissa out of that home ever since.” She looked at Savannah. “Oh, I’ve said too much already. Don’t want to jinx our efforts. Anyway, she’s special. But I fear for her life every day she’s with that family and every moment she’s accessible to her father.”
Chapter 2
“You’ve been quiet since you got home, hon,” Michael said later that evening. “Anything wrong?” Savannah eased Lily onto the floor and watched her push her doll buggy around the room for a few moments. “Not really.” She looked up at her husband. “We had a great ride. I enjoyed seeing that area. And I like Shelly. It’s just that…”
“What?” he asked.
“Well, she told me about a child who she thinks isn’t being properly cared for and I can’t stop thinking about that poor little thing.”
“No!” Adam shouted. He then whined, “Dad, make Lily stop running over my crayons.
I’m coloring here.”
Michael chuckled while picking up Lily and her buggy and aiming her in a different direction. He kissed her cheek. “Push your baby that way. Don’t run over brother.” He then suggested, “Son, why don’t you sit on the sofa here with me and color on the coffee table.”
“Then she’ll take my crayons,” he complained.
Suddenly Rags raced into the room. When he saw Adam on the floor, he trotted to him and attacked his hand playfully, scattering crayons in every direction.
“Not funny, Dad,” Adam complained when he saw the corners of Michael’s mouth start to curl. “This was my best coloring yet and he crinkled the page. Darn it, Rags!”
“Here, let me help you,” Michael said, scooping up some of the crayons. “Hey, I have an idea.”
“What,” Adam asked, “put Lily to bed and lock Rags up on the back porch?”
“Not quite,” Michael said. “Okay, I have two ideas. You choose. You can sit at the dining room table or on the staircase landing where Lily can’t bother you, or you can go to your room and neither of the juvenile delinquents can get to you.”
“Delinquents?” Adam said. “That’s funny. You mean like criminals?”
“Yes, like criminals disturbing the peace, violating your space, vandalizing your crayons,” Michael exaggerated. He took a breath. “So, what’s your choice?”
“I want to be in here with you guys,” he whined.
“Yeah, I prefer that, too,” Michael said.
Savannah addressed the boy. “So, Adam, why don’t you choose another activity that you can do with Lily and Rags and save coloring for when those two are sleeping. Want to do that?”
Adam, clutching his coloring book to his chest, his fist full of crayons, looked from the toddler to the cat. After some contemplation, he nodded. “Yeah, I guess that’s a good idea. I’ll play with Lily and Rags now and color later.”
“Thanks, hon,” Michael said when Adam left the room to put his coloring books away.
“For what?”
“For your great insight and logical thinking.”
She shrugged. “It was pure luck. Not all my ideas are as readily accepted.”
Michael sat down and began stacking Lily’s blocks just as Adam scampered back into the room. “Hey, I’ll help,” the boy said. “Let’s see how high we can get it before she knocks it down.”
While Michael continued to add blocks to the stack intermittently, along with Adam, he turned to Savannah. “So tell me about this child.”
“Yeah, what’s wrong with him?” Adam asked.
“It’s a little girl and she’s crippled and lives with a family who isn’t very nice to her,” she explained.
“How do you know that?” Michael asked.
“She’s in Shelly’s class at school and Shelly said she isn’t thriving.”
“What’s that mean?” Adam asked, crinkling his nose.
“She isn’t flourishing as a child should be—you know—growing and getting stronger,” Savannah explained.
“Like me?” Adam asked, standing tall and flexing his muscles.
Savannah tousled the boy’s hair. “Yes, like you.” She then said, “Adam, if you want to go with me to the photography class tomorrow, you’ll get a chance to meet Marissa.”
“Yeah, I want to go. Can I take pictures with a real camera?”
“Sure. I have a camera you can use.”
“Awesome.”
****
Wednesday afternoon, Savannah and Adam arrived at the recreation hall to find Shelly setting up the room.
“Thanks for coming early,” she said. When she spotted the boy, she greeted him. “Hello there, Adam. Glad you could join us.”
“Thanks,” he said, looking down at the camera in his hands. He then looked up. “Savannah let me use this camera.”
“All right! Looks like a good one. Most of the kids will use these disposable cameras.”
“Disposable?” Adam asked, glancing briefly at Savannah.
“Yes,” Shelly explained, “you take pictures, get them developed, and then throw the camera away. You can use it once and that’s it.”
“What a waste,” he said.
“But consider this, Adam,” Shelly said as she stacked several cameras on a table, “these cameras cost me around $5 each and that camera you have there probably cost between one and two hundred dollars.”
“Oh,” he said, now appearing to understand.
Suddenly they heard a melodic voice, “Hi, Ms. Shelly.”
“Marissa, hi. So glad you could make it.”
Savannah turned to see a small girl, who looked younger than her
ten years, sitting in a ratty wheelchair in the doorway. Her soft dark curls bounced as she glanced around the room through sparkling brown eyes.
Shelly hugged the girl, then pulled back. She frowned and asked, “Where’s your new chair?”
The child looked down and spoke quietly. “I don’t know. I guess someone else needed it more than I do.”
Shelly set her jaw and said through gritted teeth, “They probably sold it. That was your chair, darn it. The fundraiser was for you.”
“It’s okay, Ms. Shelly,” Marissa said brightly. “Remember, I can walk…” She looked down. “…only not very far.”
Just then a pert pony-tailed girl of seventeen appeared behind Marissa and continued wheeling her through the door. Shelly acknowledged her. “Hi, Erin. Thanks for bringing her.”
“Sure,” the teen said with a wide smile. She then frowned. “…although, it was a bit dicey today.”
“What do you mean?” Shelly asked.
“Well, there was the wheelchair issue…we had to go to the disgusting basement and find this one for her to use.” She frowned. “It was covered with spider webs and I had to clean it—Rissy helped,” she added, motioning toward Marissa. “Then we had to scrounge for lunch. By the time I got home from class, all that was left to eat were a few stale chips and some cheese slices. I found enough change in my purse to buy two corn burritos and an apple, which we shared.”
Shelly grimaced, then asked, “What happened to her new chair?”
Erin shrugged. “Who knows? I’ve been in that house for seven years and a lot of my stuff has gone missing. Remember the bike I won in that contest? It disappeared. Mavis told me it must have been stolen. Well, I saw a kid on it a while later and he and his mother swear they bought it off Craigslist.” She leaned toward Shelly. “I think we all know what happened to Rissy’s chair and my bike.” She smirked. “Mrs. Rotten…I mean Cotton…sold them.”