Words

by Ginny L. Yttrup

  My mom loves me a lot, I think. But she's not really the cool hand on the forehead type. She's . . . well, she's just different than that.

  The first time I saw The Sound of Music, I watched it on television one night when my mom and Brent were gone. I remember thinking how sad it was that all those children lost their mother. Now, I'm just like them.

  Maybe Sierra could be my Maria.

  I look down at my lap and wonder what my mom would do if she found out what I was thinking. Maybe she'd never come back.

  Guilt pokes at my heart.

  And the hole inside feels like it might swallow me up.

  I look at what I've written, add a period to the end, then fold it up and put it in the pocket of my pants. I reach under my mattress and feel for the note I wrote last night. I fold that and put it in my other pocket, then get up and head for the door. Just before I walk out, I turn, look at the mattress, and my heart just about stops dead! I left the pen and the dictionary just lying there! I run back, grab both, and put them away. I take a deep breath and then let it out. My neck and shoulders feel tight and my stomach hurts again.

  Then, even though I know she's not coming today, I head for my tree. I want to leave her my note just in case I can't be there tomorrow.

  There's no way of knowing what will happen tomorrow.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Sierra

  I reach for the doorbell and my body shudders. Heavy footsteps echo from the inside hallway, the porch light clicks on, and Michael opens the door.

  "Hey . . . Sierra? I didn't know . . . You look horrible."

  "Tha-tha-thanks. May I come in?"

  "Oh, of course." Michael opens the door wider and steps aside. "Holy cow, you're shaking." He places a hand on my shoulder and guides me toward the kitchen. "You're wet. Sierra, where've you been? Did Ruby know you were coming? Here, sit. Hang on a minute . . ."

  Michael reaches for a pot, fills it with water, sets it to boil, then walks through the family room to the glass doors that lead from the house to Ruby's studio out back.

  Within forty-five seconds, maybe less, Ruby's standing at my side. She takes one look at me then stoops next to the chair where I'm sitting and places a hand on my knee, "Sierra?" Concern furrows her brow.

  I'm so relieved to see her—so grateful for her—want so much to tell her everything. How sorry I am . . . how selfish I've been . . . how I understand everything now. But tears blur my vision and the ache in my throat keeps the words from my mouth. Instead, trembling, I reach into the pocket of my jeans and pull out a crumpled piece of brown paper. I hand it to her.

  She looks at me then at the note she holds.

  Dear Miss Sierra,

  It was nice to meet you and Van. Thank you for the apple and the granola bar. They were scrumptious.

  Please come back soon.

  From, Kaylee

  P.S. That's my name.

  Ruby looks back at me. "Scrumptious?"

  Teeth chattering, I nod my head. "Y-yes. Scrump-tious."

  "Here, Sierra, drink this, it'll help warm you up." Michael hands me a cup of tea and then reaches and takes the note from Ruby. "Who's Kaylee?"

  Ignoring Michael's question, Ruby takes my hand, pulls me from the chair. "Sierra, we need to get you out of these wet clothes. Come on."

  She drags me to their bedroom, where she opens a large black lacquered armoire, and pulls out a pair of green velvet pajamas.

  "Here, put these on. They'll keep you warm."

  "Wait a minute, who's Kaylee?" Michael, perplexed, has followed us into the bedroom. "Why are you wet? And what, I beg, is so scrumptious about a granola bar?"

  I take the pajamas from Ruby. "K-Kaylee is . . . a little girl. I baptized myself this afternoon. And when you're star-starving, anything is scrumptious."

  Both Michael and Ruby look at me like I've lost my mind. And maybe I have.

  I turn and head for the bathroom to change. As soon as I shut the bathroom door, Ruby's knocking on it. "What do you mean you baptized yourself? Is she really starving? What are you going to do? Do you know what you're doing? Sierra?"

  I slip into the luxurious emerald green pajamas and feel like I'm playing dress-up. This is the most color I've worn. Ever. I open the door and tell Ruby exactly what I'm going to do. "I'm going to follow God's plan. I just don't know exactly what that is. Yet."

  Ruby appears stunned. "Sierra, that color is gorgeous on you."

  "Ruby! Did you hear what I said?"

  "Sorry. It's just that you look so . . . alive."

  With Ruby and Michael staring at me, it hits me. I am. I'm truly alive.

  "I am alive, Rube. For the first time in twelve years, I feel alive." I reach for Ruby and embrace her. "I love you, Rube. I'm so sorry for the pain I've caused you. Thank you for hanging in there with me all these years."

  Ruby steps back, looks at me, and her eyes well with tears. "You let go." It was a statement rather than a question.

  "I let go."

  "Will someone please tell me who Kaylee is?"

  Ruby and I look at each other and smile. "Let's go back to the kitchen and I'll tell you both the whole story."

  Michael pushes his glasses up on his nose. "It's about time."

  Sierra, you need to call the county—Child Welfare Services. Obviously, no one's taking care of this child."

  "Michael, I know. But didn't you hear me? I don't know who she is or where she lives. I must have walked for miles this afternoon, searching for her—for a house, a cabin, a tent. Anything. All I found was a note in a tree. What do I do, send the authorities to a tree?"

  Michael leans forward, elbows on the kitchen table. "No. But you report what you do know. Make the call first thing in the morning. Give them her first name, the general area where you've seen her, what you've observed—then let them tell you the next step. That way at least there's a report on record. It's a beginning."

  "You're right."

  Ruby comes back to the table with fresh coffee for her and Michael and a grilled turkey and cheese sandwich and another cup of tea for me. "You know, she can't just disappear into thin air. There have to be signs of her up there somewhere. Are you sure you covered the whole area?"

  "I don't know. First I followed what looked like a trail through the meadow—the direction I saw her head that first day. It leads to a stream. It didn't occur to me that she'd cross the stream. But when I didn't find anything in the other directions, I looped back and was looking for a place to cross when the rain started. By then it was already dusk. I guess I'll go back tomorrow."

  "Want me to come with you?"

  Taking Ruby with me is tempting, but . . . "No, I think I better go alone. I told her I'd come back so, hopefully, I'll find her at the tree. I don't want to overwhelm her. Maybe she'll talk to me tomorrow and I can find out more.

  "Okay. Call me when you get back and let me know if you find anything."

  "Yeah, I will. It's getting late, I better head home and let you guys get to bed."

  "Why don't you spend the night?"

  "Thanks, Michael, but I need to get home to Van. He's been alone in the yard all day."

  "Van." Ruby shakes her head and smiles. "I told you he was progress."

  "He's a dog. He's not progress." I swat at Ruby, then give her a hug. "I'll talk to you tomorrow. And thanks, you guys—I won't make a habit of barging in unannounced. I just needed to . . . you know."

  "Hey, you're always welcome." Michael puts an arm around me and gives me a slight squeeze. He knows I'd dodge a hug.

  "Thanks. I'll talk to you tomorrow. Oh, and thanks for the jammies. I'll get them back to you."

  "Keep them. They look great on you."

  I look down at the beautiful jewel tone of the pajamas and am r
eminded that as of today, I am a new creation. The old has passed away. "Maybe I will keep them, if you mean it. They'll remind me of today, of starting anew."

  Ruby nods. "They're all yours. And Sierra"—her voice catches—"I love you and I'm so proud of you."

  "Thank you." I whisper the words and wipe the tears now streaming down my cheeks. I reach for Ruby and we hug each other tight—crying, laughing, and free.

  Once home I walk into the kitchen and see Van outside, asleep against the kitchen door—fur pressed to glass. From inside, I tap on the door, wake him, and then open it. Van stretches, walks past me into the kitchen, stops, sniffs his crate, and heads straight for the bedroom.

  "Hey, what's this, the cold shoulder?" I follow him into my room and watch as he, without hesitation, jumps up on the bed. He sighs and settles in.

  "What have I done? Hey, you're not wet, are you?" I walk over and run my hand across Van's dry back. "Good. You stayed out of the rain. Sorry I was gone so long, boy."

  I cup my hands around his furry face, and he opens his eyes.

  "Tomorrow you go with me, Van."

  I'm sure his expression says, loud and clear, "Of course I do."

  With a smile, I scratch his head, then get ready for bed. We'll both need a good night's sleep to be ready for tomorrow.

  To find Kaylee.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Kaylee

  It's a dark night—no moon. Earlier the wind was blowing and then it started to rain. It felt more like winter than summer. It's times like these, when the cabin creaks and branches scrape against the roof and windows, that I hate being all by myself.

  a·lone—adjective 1. apart from anything or anyone else. 2. without any other person.

  That word's not in my box. It just describes me, so I remembered the exact definition. When he's here, I feel the most alone, which doesn't really make sense, I guess.

  I turned the lights off right after it got dark just in case he comes back tonight. If everything is dark and quiet, maybe he'll forget I'm here. I lie on my mattress and stare at nothing.

  Just as my eyes are feeling heavy and like I can't keep them open any longer, I see lights flash through the window, across the ceiling, and onto the other wall. Then I hear his truck.

  I pull the scratchy wool blanket up over my face and hope that he either won't see me or that he'll ignore me. I wait as I hear his steps on the gravel, then on the stoop. The front door squeaks as it opens and the light comes on. It shines through the thin blanket covering my face and startles me. I jump. Then I lie perfectly still hoping he didn't notice. I take shallow breaths hoping not to rustle the blanket at all.

  He stands for a long time. Then I hear him walk right past me—like he's going into the kitchen. I hear a cupboard door open and bang shut, then the refrigerator door opens and shuts. Then I hear his steps coming back my way—he stops right by me. He lifts the blanket with his foot and kicks it off me.

  "What you doin'? Try'n to hide?" He laughs at me. "C'mon, Kaylee, ain't you happy to see me? I came home just for you."

  I can tell by the look in his eyes that he did come home for me. And I know why. I pull my knees to my chest and curl into a tight ball. I want to hide. I want him to go away. I can't do this.

  I can't.

  "C'mon. Get up. You look like a baby all curled up like that. Get up." He pushes me with his foot. "Get up!"

  I know how this goes. If I don't get up, he'll make me get up. I'm better off just doing it myself. But I don't know if I can. I feel like I'm frozen. I finally let go of my legs and slowly straighten them out, then I sit up. I pull my knees to my chest and lean my back against the wall.

  "That's more like it. Now I can see your pretty little face." He walks back to the kitchen and grabs one of the wood chairs from in there and carries it out and sits it backwards in front of me. Then he straddles it and sits facing me. "What'd you do today?"

  I don't react.

  "I asked you a question. What'd you do today?"

  I feel myself starting to shake—it starts deep inside—like in the bottom of my stomach, then works its way out.

  "You too good to talk to me? That it? You ain't as good as you think. Stand up."

  My legs feel wobbly as I get up. I keep my back against the wall—as far away from him as I can get.

  "That's it. You just stand there and let me have a look at you."

  I know what's coming.

  I close my eyes and see letters in my mind—faint yellow words against the dark background of my closed eyes. They aren't in any order. Just a bunch of words.

  Lackadaisical.

  Cosmology.

  Bazooka.

  Platypus.

  I feel him standing in front of me—then leaning against me—pressing me into the wall. I sidestep and it causes him to get off-balance. I run to the other wall, near the bookshelf.

  The words come faster.

  Marsupial, quaver, jacquard.

  Then he pushes me, hard, against the shelf and the top shelf and my books go flying.

  Oh no! Please don't let him take my books . . .

  Then my head snaps to one side. I feel heat first, then pain. A sharp pain shoots from my jaw up to my eye. He slapped me. Hard.

  He laughs again. "Open your eyes. This is too good to miss. You pay me some attention." Then he leans into me again and I feel his lips on my face where he just slapped me. "Feel better?"

  I close my eyes again and see one word. Just one.

  Flee.

  flee—verb 1. to run away or escape from danger, pursuit, unpleasantness, etc. 2. to pass away suddenly; disappear; vanish.

  Then, like he knows what I'm thinking, he whispers in my ear. "Your mamma might decide she wants you back—she might come lookin' for you someday. You gotta stay right here and wait for her. You can't go runnin' off. We'll just keep each other company 'til then."

  With him still leaning against me, I feel him reach for his belt and take it off.

  I hear the scream—no, I feel the scream—first in my chest, then my throat. But instead of coming out my mouth, it moves to my head where I hear it.

  And hear it.

  And hear it.

  The last thing I remember is the scream.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Sierra

  3:28 a.m.

  5:28 a.m. in Texas. I reach for the lamp by my bed and pull the chain, then squint against the light shining in my eyes. If I call now, I might catch Daddy before he heads out for the day.

  I pick up the phone and dial.

  "Good morning, Bickford Ranch, Ben here."

  "Hi, Daddy."

  "Pumpkin, you're up before the sun. Everything all right?"

  "Yeah. I'm fine. I just wanted to talk to you. I . . . there's this . . . I'm . . ." I don't know where to begin.

  "What's on your mind, Sierra?"

  "Do you have a few minutes?"

  I hear a scraping noise through the phone line and picture my daddy pulling a chair out from the kitchen table and taking a seat. "I have all the time in the world. What's up?"

  "Well, it's kind of a long story. Did Mother tell you we talked last week?"

  "Yes, she said you weren't too receptive to her suggestions. That you were still planning on going to the cemetery. Did you go?"

  "Yeah, I did. But . . . Daddy, Mother was right. It's time for me to let go of this . . . this anger and guilt I've had since Annie died. I . . . I just didn't know how. I couldn't figure it all out, you know?"

  "I know, pumpkin."

  "Anyway, after I went to the cemetery that day, the strangest thing happened. I went for a hike and I thought I saw a little girl. She was all by herself. At first I didn't think she was real . . . I thought I was just seeing t
hings. But then, I went back and . . ."

  I tell my daddy the whole story. I tell him about Kaylee. I tell him how I feel like I'm supposed to do something. I tell him about the beach and finally accepting God's forgiveness and knowing that if I am supposed to do something, I can't do it alone. I tell him everything—I talk more than I've talked in years.

  "What do you think I should do?"

  My daddy is quiet—thoughtful—then, his voice thick with emotion, says, "Honey, you're on the right track. You've taken a step of faith. Now take another. Then another. You pray your way through each step and let God lead. But Sierra, you'll have moments of doubt. Anytime one of God's children turns back to Him, the enemy puts up a fight. You're going to second-guess your choices and you're going to want to turn back to what feels familiar. But don't you do that. You stay in close touch—you call us—you call Ruby. You keep close, you hear?"

  "I hear you. I will."

  "And about this child, Michael's right. You make a call this morning. You report what you've found. Then go back and try to find her again. Mother said you got a dog?"

  I laugh and reach for Van. "Yes, sir, I got myself a dog. He's quite the guy."

  "Well good. Take him with you when you go looking for her. Dogs have a sense about these things. He'll help you find her. And you be careful. If you figure out where she lives, report it to the authorities. Don't confront anyone by yourself."

  "Okay. You're right—I'll just get an address that I can report. And I will take Van today. He was with me the day I met her and she seemed to like him."