Bringing Maggie Home

by Kim Vogel Sawyer

  Meghan reluctantly crossed off the name. Now only seven remained. “Who do you think we should try to find first?”

  “Maybe the Spanns’ daughter, Beth. She was a year ahead of me at school, a real go-getter even then, always organizing the children for games at recess. I’m surprised she never ran for president. If she’s still alive, she might remember something useful.”

  Meghan circled the Spanns. “Who else?”

  “Definitely Nora Burton’s daughter, Elaine. Of course, I’m assuming she’s still living, too. She’d be…” Grandma scrunched her face and pinched her chin for a moment. “Oh, goodness, eighty-three or eighty-four. But her mother’s the one who saw the Gypsy wagon a day or two before Maggie disappeared. I am very certain Maggie didn’t walk away on her own. I found her hair ribbon caught on a tree branch almost as high as my head. Maggie would have been too short for the branch to snatch it from her hair.”

  Mom sauntered around the corner. “The wind might have blown it there.”

  Grandma glanced at her, her forehead pinching. “Yes. Yes, I suppose that’s possible, but…” She turned to Meghan again, and earnestness replaced the uncertainty. “She was just a little thing, and I wasn’t away from her that long. Either she fell into a hiding place so well concealed the men who searched for her couldn’t spot it, or someone taller who could move much faster carried her. Nora Burton was adamant that the Gypsies had taken Maggie because twice before, children disappeared in our county around the same time the Gypsies were near.”

  “Two other kids?” Meghan’s pulse gave an excited double step. “Are you sure?”

  “Well, I don’t know it for a fact, but I heard her say so. It’s worth invigorating.”

  Mom shot Grandma a funny look. “Do you mean investigating?”

  Grandma blinked twice. “Yes. Yes, worth investigating. Don’t you think so, Meghan?”

  “I sure do.” Meghan reached into her pocket for her cell phone. “I’d like to call Sean. I don’t have access to the office computers right now, but he does. There are databases with thousands of missing-persons files. He could search for the names of children who turned up missing from Benton County in the forties. Maybe the families of those children will recall something helpful. Do you mind involving Sean?”

  Grandma shrugged. “If he can help, then call him. I don’t mind.”

  Mom opened the refrigerator as Meghan pulled up Sean’s number. “Are you sure you should bother him on a Sunday? You said something about him being real religious. He might be in church.”

  Meghan arched a brow. “At three in the afternoon?”

  Mom grimaced. “Isn’t Sunday a day of rest?”

  Meghan hesitated with her finger poised above his contact number. Sean would be out of church by now—no church she knew of lasted until three in the afternoon—and she wouldn’t be asking him to work today. He wouldn’t be able to access the computer files until he went to the office tomorrow. Still, she wasn’t sure.

  She looked at Grandma. “You’re a Christian. Would you mind receiving a phone call about something work related on a Sunday?”

  Grandma chuckled. “It wouldn’t bother me, but you know this Sean better than I do.”

  For reasons Meghan didn’t understand, heat simmered in her face. She lowered her head slightly and pretended to adjust the phone’s volume.

  “If you think he’d rather not be disturbed today, then it can wait until tomorrow.”

  Meghan chewed her lip. If they waited until tomorrow, it would be evening before she could call. They’d lose a whole day—a potential day of digging for information. She shook her head. “I’m calling him. If he doesn’t want to be disturbed, he’ll let it go to voice mail. I can leave a message, and he’ll take it from there.”

  Grandma smiled, warmth glimmering in her eyes. “You trust this man, don’t you?”

  The simmer became a smolder. “Yeah. I really do.”

  Mom carried a pitcher of tea and three glasses to the table and sat. “I’m glad you and Sean have such a good relationship—”

  “Working relationship,” Meghan blurted.

  Mom’s lips twitched. “Working relationship. But is it fair to dump this on him? He doesn’t know Mother from Adam’s house cat. Why should he have to spend his free time digging up information about a child who, in all probability, has been dead for decades?” She glanced at Grandma. “No offense intended, Mother.”

  Grandma’s face paled and she brushed at nonexistent crumbs on the table’s polished top. “You’re likely correct, Margaret Diane. But”—she rested her elbows on the edge of the table—“what if she’s alive? What if she’s spent her entire life confused and uncertain about who she is? What if she has memories of her family and wonders why we never came to get her?”

  Meghan gave a jolt. Grandma might have been describing some of her own feelings as a child—wondering who her father was, why he’d left her, whether he would show up on the doorstep someday. She wouldn’t wish those feelings of confusion and longing on anyone.

  Mom filled a glass, took a long draw, and swallowed. She shrugged—not a flippant shrug but an “I’m not sure” shrug. “That’s a lot of what-ifs.”

  Grandma nodded. “I know. Believe me, I know the odds are against it. But in case it’s true, don’t I owe it to her to bring closure to those questions? After all, it was my carelessness that let her slip away.” Twin tears appeared in the corners of her eyes.

  Meghan jammed her fingers through her hair and blew out a breath. “First of all, Grandma, you were a little girl yourself. You weren’t being careless—you were just being a kid. In my line of business, I’ve seen true, deliberate carelessness. So I know the difference. And, Mom…” She aimed a stern look at her mother—the sternest she’d likely ever risked. “You’re being a real party pooper and you need to knock it off.”

  Mom placed her hand against her chest as if shocked. “Me?”

  “Yes, you. All your negative talk. Can’t you be encouraging for once?”

  Mom scowled. “I’m trying to be realistic, Meghan. Somebody needs to be, because the two of you have climbed into a fantasy boat and set sail on a sea of improbabilities. What both of you seem to forget is I spent my whole childhood living under a cloud of fear because she”—Mom pointed her finger at Grandma—“lost one kid on her watch and didn’t want to live with the guilt of losing another. Do you really think finding Maggie will fix all that?”

  If Meghan found her father, would it fix her childhood insecurities?

  Grandma rose, her bearing stiff and her movements as jerky as a rusty robot’s. “I’m tired. I believe I’ll go lie down for a nap.” Her steps shuffling, she left the room.

  Meghan heaved a sigh and glowered at her mother. “Happy now?”

  Mom stared into the glass, her expression sullen.

  “I don’t get you at all. I know you and Grandma have your issues, but I’ve never seen her be intentionally unkind to anyone. Even when they deserved it.”

  Mom flinched, proving Meghan’s intentional barb hit home.

  “Can’t you look past your resentment and try to see everything Grandma’s lost? So she became overprotective! Who could blame her? At least she didn’t decide to dive into a barrel of self-pity or bitterness.” Another barb—a sharp one she hoped pricked her mother in the center of the heart. “Maybe it was Grandma’s fear of losing you that made her overprotective. But if she hadn’t loved you so much, it wouldn’t have mattered if she lost you. Why don’t you consider that, Mom?”

  Mom still didn’t answer, so Meghan pushed herself from the chair, grabbed her crutches, and double-timed it out of the kitchen and to the hall bathroom, her private sanctuary. She sank onto the toilet seat and buried her face in her hands. She’d never been so disrespectful to her mother, and guilt nibbled at her. But at the same time, she had to stand up for Grandma. The way Grandma had always stood up for her.

  June 1992

  Meghan stepped inside the pink-and-white-s
triped inflated ring and pulled it up around her middle. She danced in place on the concrete. So hot on her bare soles! The sparkling water would cool her feet. And the rest of her, too. She scampered to the edge of the community pool and poised, ready to leap. But first she searched over her shoulder. “Grandma, Grandma, lookee at me!”

  Grandma waved from her lounge chair and beamed a smile as bright as the sunshine straight overhead. “I’m looking, honey.” Just like always.

  Meghan grinned, bent her knees, and leaped. She gasped when her body met the cold water and then laughed at the droplets that splashed her face. She paddled with her hands and feet to the edge and grabbed hold. She called to Grandma, “Didja see that? I jumped in all by myself!”

  “You sure did. Good job!” The mirrored lenses of Grandma’s sunglasses reflected the pool’s activity. Meghan even saw herself in there, and she couldn’t resist waving at the pair of little pigtailed Meghans on Grandma’s glasses.

  Two boys with skin-colored pinchers on their noses swam up on either side of her. “Hey, kid, why don’tcha try jumping in without your floatie?”

  “Yeah.” The other one smirked at his buddy. “Only babies use floaties.”

  Meghan’s stomach turned a somersault. Her chest felt tight. “I’m not a baby.”

  “Prove it,” the smirking one said.

  Before Meghan could answer, a shadow fell over them. She looked up. There was Grandma.

  “Boys, you’re too big to be at this end of the pool. This end is for younger children. Go swim in your own end and leave the little ones alone.”

  The boys snickered, but they pushed away from the edge and swam away.

  Meghan blinked back tears. She’d been having fun, and those boys had ruined it. “Can I take off my floatie?”

  “No, you may not.”

  “How come?”

  “Because you can’t swim yet. The floatie keeps you safe.”

  “I don’t wanna wear it.” She stuck out her lower lip. “They said I’m a baby.”

  Grandma crouched down and smoothed a strand of wet hair from Meghan’s forehead. “Just because they said it doesn’t make it true.”

  “But, Grandma—”

  “Meghan, who knows you better—those boys, or you?”

  She scrunched her face. She didn’t even know their names. They didn’t know her name, either. They’d called her kid. “I know me better.”

  “Are you a baby?”

  Meghan stuck out her skinny chest. “No.”

  “You’re absolutely right. You aren’t a baby. You’re a little girl who hasn’t yet learned to swim. Taking off your floatie could be dangerous for you. That’s why you need to leave it on, no matter what other people say.”

  Meghan scowled. “I don’t like it when boys call me names.”

  “Nobody likes to be called names. But if you already know you aren’t what they said, there’s no reason to pay any attention to them.” Grandma slipped her sunglasses to the top of her head and looked Meghan right in the eyes. “Sweetheart, there are going to be lots of times in life when people call you names or try to convince you you’re something you’re not. You have to be strong enough to ignore them and be true to yourself. That’s called respecting yourself, and it’s very important. People who respect themselves make wise decisions.”

  “Like using my floatie?”

  Grandma smiled. “Like using your floatie. At least until you’ve learned to swim.”

  Meghan chewed the inside of her cheek and squinted at Grandma. Finally she sighed. “All right. I’ll wear it.”

  “Good girl.”

  “But, Grandma, can I learn how to swim, please?”

  “I’ll see if I can sign you up for lessons.”

  “Thank you!”

  “Until then, your floatie will keep you safe in the water. And I’ll be right here watching. If those boys come back, I’ll chase them off so they can’t bother you, all right?”

  “I can chase ’em off all by myself.” Meghan flexed her puny muscles. “I’m strong.”

  Grandma smiled. “Yes, you are. You’re the strongest Meghan I know.”

  Eighteen

  Present Day

  Diane

  Diane put the pitcher of tea back in the fridge and poured the contents of her glass into the sink. She patted her leg, and the dachshunds dashed from the living room and surrounded her. She sat in the middle of her mother’s clean tile floor and let the dogs wash her fingers, her arms, her chin with their velvety tongues, hoping the warm affection would wash away the frustration and anger Meghan’s words had raised. Minutes passed, and her seething didn’t subside.

  If she were at home, she’d put the dogs in the car and go for a drive. A long drive always helped clear her head. But she wasn’t at home, and she wasn’t familiar enough with Las Vegas to go gallivanting even with her GPS. The GPS wouldn’t keep her out of unsafe parts of town.

  Mother knew the area and could guide her, but Diane wouldn’t ask her. Not because Mother would refuse. She’d agree. But she’d keep wearing the mask of hurt she put on before leaving the kitchen, her attempt to goad Diane into guilt. She’d subjected Diane to manipulative silences her entire life. Meghan had no idea what Diane had lived through, and she had no business passing judgment.

  She stood and rounded the corner to the living room, to Mother’s chair, where the box of photographs from the closet and the stack of family albums waited on the side table. Diane sank into the chair and settled the box on her lap. The scrapbook page with the photo of Maggie holding her doll lay on top of the now neatly stacked photographs. Diane set it aside and lifted out one stack. She went through them one by one, examining the faces. Mostly examining her mother’s girlish face. As she searched the expressions captured in black and white, the pictures began to tell a story. A story that made her squirm.

  The distinctive thud-thump of Meghan’s crutches on the floor interrupted, and she looked up. Her daughter approached slowly, remorse glimmering in her brown eyes. Diane shook her head before Meghan could offer an apology.

  “Don’t say it. It’s done, can’t be taken back, and it’s best to forge forward, all right?”

  Meghan hung her head for a moment. Then she nodded. “All right.” She inched closer. “What are you doing?”

  “Looking. Here, sit down.” Diane swung her feet from the ottoman and waited until Meghan seated herself on the padded square. “This is kind of interesting.” She lined up six photographs along the arm of the chair. “This one is Mother with her parents. She looks maybe five or six years old, agreed?”

  Meghan leaned in and seemed to peruse the picture. She nodded.

  “Notice she isn’t really smiling. Neither is her mother. And her father doesn’t look all that thrilled, either. We probably wouldn’t caption this one Sunshine and Happiness, yes?”

  Again Meghan nodded.

  “Now look at the next one—Mother with her mom. Clearly the mother is expecting. She’s trying to camouflage the bulge behind an apron, but the way Mother’s arms are wrapped around her mom’s waist, you can see the baby bump. Look at their expressions here. Different from the first pic, don’t you think?”

  Meghan frowned at the photos, her gaze darting back and forth. “Yeah. So?”

  Diane pursed her lips. “Stick with me.” She tapped the third photograph—the one Mother wanted to have blown up for a frame. “See here? The baby’s with them. Granted, it’s a studio portrait so they’re having to pay for it, which means being on their best behavior, but any fool could see those smiles are genuine, not strained. Here’s your sunshine-and-happiness shot.”

  A slight smile tipped up the corners of Meghan’s lips. “They do look happy together, don’t they?”

  “Yes. As they do in the next two pictures, even though they aren’t all together as a family.” Diane held them up one at a time as she mused aloud. “These must’ve been taken on Maggie’s birthday, because she’s wearing the same dress as the one with her doll, and Mot
her said it was her birthday doll. See here? Maggie’s with Mother and my grandmother, all smiling and happy. And here she’s with Mother and my grandfather, still all smiling and happy. But now look at this one.”

  She aimed the final photo she’d selected at Meghan. “It’s Mother, probably twelve or so, with her parents. Look at their faces. Look at how thin my grandfather is. Look at how strained my grandmother is. Look at how sad Mother appears.” Diane slapped it back on the armrest and swept her hand along the row. “What we’re looking at is the timeline of my grandfather’s alcoholism. Drinking—not drinking—drinking again. I’d bet my dachshunds on it.”

  Meghan’s eyes widened and she gaped at Diane. “You mean you think the only time he didn’t drink was when Maggie was with them?”

  “That’s what it looks like to me.”

  “Oh, Mom.”

  Diane understood the sadness behind her daughter’s simple statement. If Maggie was the impetus that led Burl Blackwell to give up drinking and if Mother felt responsible for losing Maggie, then she no doubt also assumed responsibility for her father’s descent into alcoholism afterward.

  Meghan gathered the photographs and fanned them like a hand of poker. She sighed. “Poor Grandma. It’s one thing to hear her talk about how Maggie’s disappearance affected her. It’s another to see the evidence in front of you.”

  Diane couldn’t hold back a snort. “We’ve seen the evidence for years in the way she behaves—overly controlling and overly protective and paranoid. We just didn’t know until now what caused it. It’s all because of her.” She picked up the page with Maggie holding her birthday doll. “Mother let one event shape her entire life.”

  Meghan stared at her silently for a few seconds, and then she started to laugh.