by Karen Ball
Faith pulled back. “You’ll come every day?”
Anne nodded.
“Promise? You won’t forget?”
“I won’t forget. I promise.” Anne smiled up at Jared, and his answering grin told her he knew, as Anne did, that only one thing would dispel the glimmer of doubt still lurking in Faith’s eyes. Anne looked back at their daughter. “Cross my heart and hope to fly …”
Faith giggled. “Stick a dweeble in your eye?”
Anne hugged Faith again. “Ten dweebles at least, sweetie, if I ever forget you.”
School was the best. Faith loved going to school. She loved walking there with her mom each morning and loved the way her mom always hugged her and told her the same thing: “You be a good girl today.” Faith liked being a good girl. ’Cuz it made Mommy smile.
This morning Mom gave her a big hug, then waved as Faith ran onto the playground to meet her friends. And her teacher. Faith loved the teachers and the playground and the desks and the pictures on the walls and even the sound of the chalk as Mrs. Rice wrote words on the blackboard. School was her most favorite place of all.
Well, almost favorite. Her really most favorite was home, with Mom and Daddy.
“Hi, Faith.”
She turned to see who was calling her and smiled. Winola Gregory was sitting on a swing, waving at her. Swinging was Faith’s favorite thing to do. It was so neat to feel like she was flying. She hoped the bell didn’t ring for a long time. It was lots of fun on the playground.
Especially with Winnie. Faith saw Winnie all the time, both at school and in Sunday School. Winnie was really quiet, and her short, yellowish hair kind of stuck out funny, and she had big black glasses that made her look like a big ol’ owl with giant brown eyes. But she was nice. And she knew funny jokes.
Faith and Winnie had been friends since first grade, when a big rubber ball that Faith kicked smacked Winne in the head. Winnie was hanging upside down on the jungle gym at the time, and she dropped to the ground with a yelp and a plop. Faith went to help her up and say sorry.
But Winnie just gave her a shy smile. “That’s okay. You jus’ scared me a little.”
From that point on, Faith knew Winnie would be her best friend forever.
“Hey, Faith!”
She looked to where Winnie was swinging. “Yeah?”
“How deep is a frog pond?”
Faith grinned. “How deep?”
“Knee-deep! Knee-deep!”
Winnie was trying to sound like a frog, but she sounded more like a goat strangling on a tin can. Even so, it made Faith laugh. She went to sit on the swing next to Winnie, but before she reached it, another girl pushed past her, grabbed the swing, and plunked down on it.
Trista Jennings. She always did things like stealing swings. Mean things.
Winnie frowned. “That’s Faith’s swing.”
Trista wrinkled her nose and made a face at Winnie. “These swings are for big girls, not babies.”
Faith put her hands on her hips. Who was Trista calling a baby? She was the same age as Faith. “I’m not a baby!”
Trista pushed off, swinging, barely missing Faith with her feet. “Yes, you are. That’s why your mommy has to bring you to school.”
“Faith’s mom is nice.”
Faith smiled at Winnie. She said things real quiet, but she said them real firm, too. Faith liked that.
Winnie went on. “I like Faith’s mom. I think it’s neat she walks Faith to school.”
“Yeah, well, who cares what you like?” Trista kicked her feet out, sending the swing higher. “You’re a baby, too. And you’re stupid.”
With that, Trista jumped off the swing. She landed with a thud right in front of Faith, then crossed her arms and pushed her face into Faith’s. “Go ahead, take the swing. I don’t want to be around you babies anyway.”
Faith felt the mad deep inside. She wanted to yell at Trista, to tell her to stop saying mean things. But she didn’t. Trista might get mad at her. The other kids listened to Trista. They kind of looked up to her because she did things other kids were afraid to do. They liked the people Trista said to like—and didn’t like the people Trista said not to like.
People like babies.
Whose mothers had to walk them to school.
“Come swing, Faith.”
Faith crossed her arms and turned to frown at Winnie. “I don’t want to swing.” She grabbed the swing and flung it away from her. “Swinging’s for babies.”
The hurt on Winnie’s face made Faith’s tummy hurt, but she didn’t say sorry. She turned and walked away. And that made the icky feeling in her tummy even worse.
Stupid playground. Stupid swings. Stupid Winnie.
She kicked at the ground. Ring, you stupid bell. She rubbed a fist at her stinging eyes. It’s no fun out here anymore.
Anne sipped her tea, savoring the momentary quiet in the kitchen. Faith had gulped down her breakfast, then raced from the room to gather her things.
“You all ready for Faith’s second day of third grade?”
Anne smiled at Jared, watching him fill his travel mug with steaming coffee. “Well, I’m ready, but I don’t know about Faith.” She glanced toward the hallway leading to Faith’s room. “She gulped down her oatmeal then disappeared into her room.”
Jared set his mug on the counter and moved to the hallway. “Faith, honey, come on, time to go. Your mommy’s waiting.”
Anne expected their daughter to come bounding out of her room, but all that met Jared’s words was silence. They looked at each other and frowned.
“Maybe she fell asleep again?”
Anne shook her head, starting down the hallway. “I don’t think so. She was all dressed—” She jerked to a halt near the stairs. Faith’s coat, which had hung there moments ago, was gone. A shiver of panic sliced through Anne as she angled a look back into the kitchen. The lunch she’d just finished packing for Faith was gone as well. Then she noticed the front door was slightly ajar.
The shiver exploded into full-blown alarm.
“Jared!”
He came to meet her. “Her things are gone and the door’s open. You don’t think someone came in the house?” She couldn’t finish the horrible thought.
Jared took in the hallway and the front door. “I don’t think anyone came in, hon. If I had to guess, I’d say Faith decided to head to school on her own.”
“Why on earth would she do that? We’ve been walking to school together since she started kindergarten.”
Jared reached for his coat and Anne’s. “Let’s go ask her.”
When Anne spotted Faith on the school playground, swinging and laughing, it was one of the most welcome sights she’d ever seen. Relief tore through her, making her knees weak. If Jared hadn’t been standing with his arm around her, Anne was sure she would have collapsed into a heap on the ground.
“Thank God she’s all right.”
Anne swallowed, managing a nod at Jared’s low comment.
He angled a look at her and gave her a fortifying squeeze. “Shall we?”
Grateful her legs were regaining their ability to support her, Anne straightened. “Absolutely.”
She followed Jared to the playground. They had just reached the swings when Faith looked up. Her eyes went wide, and she brought her swing to an abrupt halt. Anne and Jared didn’t have to say a word. Faith slid from the swing and came to stand in front of them.
“Faith Adelle—” Thank heaven, her tone was even and calm. If that wasn’t a miracle, she didn’t know what was! “Why did you leave the house alone?”
If Anne had expected remorse, she was in for disappointment. Faith’s only reply was a shrug.
Anne stiffened, then felt Jared’s hand on her shoulder. She turned to see the caution in his eyes. His message came through loud and clear: Don’t let your anger get the better of you.
He knelt so he was on eye-level with their daughter. “Faith, you need to answer your mother.”
Her father�
�s gentle prodding was Faith’s undoing. Tears suddenly perched on the edges of her eyelids, and she swallowed hard.
Anne knelt, too, taking Faith’s hand. “Sweetie, it scared us when we didn’t know where you were.”
Faith nodded, looking down, then away.
“Honey, look at me.”
Faith complied, but only for a moment. Her gaze darted from Anne’s face to look over her shoulder.
“Faith.”
She jerked her gaze back to Anne. “I’m sorry, Mommy. I just—”
“Is Faith in trouble?”
Anne looked over Faith’s shoulder. Two little girls stood there, watching. One was Winnie, Faith’s little friend. Her furrowed brow showed how worried she was. Anne didn’t recognize the other girl.
Jared answered Winnie’s question. “We need to talk with Faith for a few minutes, girls. She’ll come play with you as soon as we’re done.”
“Okay. Good.” Winnie gave a small wave at Faith and turned to leave. The other girl didn’t budge. Anne frowned. Was she afraid they were going to hurt Faith? “It’s okay …”
“Trista,” Faith supplied.
Anne glanced at her daughter, wondering at the odd tone in her voice. Then she focused on Trista. “It’s okay, Trista. Faith will come play in a minute.”
The girl looked about to say something, then her shoulders lifted and she turned to head back to the swings.
Anne watched her go, a vague sense of disquiet crawling through her. So that was where Faith got that shrug. “Is Trista new?”
Faith nodded. “She started last year. Just before school got over.”
Anne wanted to ask more, but now was not the time to get distracted. “We’re still waiting for an answer. Why did you leave the house this morning?”
Faith’s lower lip stuck out. “I can walk to school by myself.”
Hurt came, quick and sharp, slicing Anne’s heart into tiny, pain-ridden pieces. See? She doesn’t want you.
“No, you can’t.”
“Yes, I can, Daddy. I’m not a baby.”
“A baby? Who said you were a baby?” Anne glanced back at Faith’s friends. “Did one of those girls call you a baby?”
Faith didn’t answer. She just dug in, crossing her arms and standing there like a little stump.
I will not get angry. I will not. “You’re right, Faith, you’re not a baby. But you’re still too young to walk to school by yourself. Or to walk home.”
Faith opened her mouth as though to argue, but Jared held up a hand, stopping her. “Your mother is right.” He gave her a firm look. “You are not to walk to school by yourself, understood?”
She looked down at the ground and nodded. “Yes, Daddy.”
Anne put her hand on Faith’s shoulder. “I’ll be here when school is over. I expect you to wait for me, even if I’m a little late, do you understand?”
She kept staring at the ground and kicked a rock.
“Faith?”
With a heavy sigh that spoke volumes, Faith gave one curt nod.
Try not to be so excited about walking with me. “Fine, then I’ll see you later today.”
The bell rang then, and Jared laid his hand on top of Faith’s head for a moment. “I’m glad you’re all right, punkin’. Now go on, before the tardy bell rings.”
Anne watched as her daughter turned and stomped back to join the other kids who were lining up. Winnie called to Faith, signaling for her to join Trista and her in the line. Faith did so, and the two little girls leaned over and whispered to Faith. Like the sun breaking through storm clouds, Faith suddenly transformed from a sulky, frowning rebel into a smiling, laughing playmate.
Jared’s arm slipped around Anne’s shoulders. “Let’s go home, hon.”
She turned, falling into step beside him, then hesitated. Someone was watching her. She could feel it in the raised hairs on the back of her neck. She cast one final glance back toward her daughter.
Trista was standing there, staring at Anne. And though she couldn’t explain it, a shiver skittered down her back.
“Hey, you okay?”
Anne met Jared’s concerned gaze and managed a smile. “I’m fine. Just … recovering.”
He nodded, tightening his hold on her. As always, the contact warmed and uplifted her. And almost dispelled the unease Trista’s stare had planted in Anne’s gut.
Almost.
eight
“The best learning occurs in the
context of a shared experience.”
KENNY LUCK
THE FALL SPED BY, WARM DAYS TURNING COOL, sunshine easing into overcast days and nights where stars had to peek from behind thick blankets of clouds. Almost before Anne knew it, winter was upon them, complete with visits from the thick fog that fell over the valley, covering their world in a moist mist that gave sounds an odd, muted tone.
Anne loved the fog. Always had. Loved the way it enveloped her when she walked, the way it shrouded the familiar in a cloak of mystery, of hidden wonder. Faith liked the fog almost as much as her mother. Determined to nurture this bit of common ground, Anne made a point of taking Faith for walks when the fog came out to play.
This year had been especially fun. Though it was more of a struggle than in past years for Anne to walk for long—the diabetes had caused ever-worsening nerve damage in her feet—she and Faith went out a number of times, hand in hand, to enjoy their friend. Walking in the fog was one place where even the ever-ebullient Faith was quiet, thoughtful. She talked in a hushed voice, telling Anne what had happened at school or—in those rare moments—sharing her hopes and dreams.
Faith might be a little girl still, but her dreams were big.
“I want to help people. I’m gonna be a doctor.”
“I want to write books for little kids, to make them smile.”
“I’m gonna be an artist. Then I can paint beautiful pictures that will make people happy.”
Yesterday, on their walk in the fog, Faith nestled her hand in Anne’s and announced, “I want to work in a zoo.”
“A zoo?”
She nodded. “Yup. And I’ll take care of the tigers.”
Anne squeezed Faith’s small hand. Her little girl loved tigers more than almost anything. “So, you’re not going to be a doctor, huh?”
“Oh, sure. I’ll be a doctor, too. But I’ll work in the zoo on weekends.”
“Ah. And how about writing kids’ books or painting?”
She thought about that, then smiled. “Easy. I’ll write books about tigers and then paint the pictures to go with them!”
Anne slid her arm around her little dreamer. “That sounds perfect to me, sweetie.”
Faith grinned. “Me, too!”
Anne could hardly believe it was already December. The month had gone by in a blur of fun and preparation as the Christmas season unfolded. She’d started playing Christmas albums the day after Thanksgiving, much to Jared’s chagrin.
“A little early, isn’t it?”
She’d shot him a grin, dropping the needle onto the next album. “Hey, be thankful I didn’t start when I wanted to.”
“And when—” he raised his voice to be heard over Nat King Cole crooning about chestnuts and open fires—“pray tell, was that?”
“The day after Halloween.”
Though he painted his features with pained tolerance, she knew he loved the holidays as much as she. There was something magical about this time of year. Every event held special meaning.
This year was no different than previous years. They’d started out, the first weekend of December, with the hunt for the perfect Christmas tree. The three of them—each cocooned in coats, knit caps, scarves, and mittens—piled into the car, thermoses of hot chocolate and handsaws at the ready. They headed up into the mountains, bouncing along rutted logging roads, fingers crossed against meeting a logging truck on its way down, accompanying the protests of their car with spirited renditions of every Christmas carol to which they could recall words. Those songs t
hey couldn’t remember joined the ranks of “Make It Up as You Go,” Jared’s favorite pastime. He kept Faith and Anne in stitches as he lifted his beautiful baritone voice to sing opera in Italian—or more accurately, his version of what sounded Italian.
Once they found just the right spot—which was entirely intuitive, of course—they parked the car and began the trek, studying each magnificent tree, deciding which one was begging to go home with them. Anne didn’t know how Jared managed it, but he always led them to the most wonderful trees. Proud evergreens with thick, sturdy trunks and full branches reaching out as though anticipating the ornaments soon to adorn them.
With the tree for the living room chosen, it was Faith’s turn to pick out a small tree for her room. Her excitement was contagious as she went from one little tree to another, fingering its needles, inhaling its fragrance, leaning her head close to talk to it.
“It has to be a friendly tree. A really friendly tree. One that smiles.”
Jared’s brow creased. “A … friendly tree. One that—smiles.”
But Anne took her daughter’s hand, tossing a nod over her shoulder at her husband. “Makes perfect sense to me.”
And the wonderful thing was that it did! She and Faith were in perfect sync in December. No wonder Anne considered it a season of miracles.
Even Jared had to admit, once they had the trees home and decorated, that it did seem as though Faith’s tree was grinning behind the glittering lights fastened to its branches. And who could blame it? When one is the object of such fervent adoration, smiling is an infinitely sensible thing to do.
Though Jared’s long hours at the YMCA often left him weary, he always found the energy to spend evenings and weekends with them, decorating the house, putting up the tree, baking Christmas cookies, and going shopping.
And on those nights when they didn’t have things to do, they relaxed in front of the TV, watching all the sappy, silly Christmas specials. Warming their hands on cups of cocoa with tiny marshmallows bobbing on top, they laughed at the old favorites: How the Grinch Stole Christmas, Rudolf the Red-Nosed Reindeer, Little Drummer Boy, and A Charlie Brown Christmas. And by special request, the Carpenters’ Christmas special.