Girl From the Tree House

by Gudrun Frerichs

  “Funny way of doing it.”

  “I know, but she’s petrified. Helen and Horace threatened her with hell and brimstone if we don’t do what they want. Beth believes she’s doing us a favor by getting us back into their fold.”

  “How could she be that stupid?” Amadeus shakes his head in disbelief.

  Sky is glaring at Amadeus. “How can we be so blind and not notice that this is going on for her? Nobody is helping her to see that they have manipulated her. It’s what Miss Marple talked about when she meant paying attention to each other. Beth fell through the gap because none of us wanted to know about the fear the Tribe felt when we were little, and obedience was the only way to minimize the abuse.”

  “Are you accusing me?”

  “No, Amadeus, we all let her down. But I hope you will take Beth under your wing. Stay at her side as much as possible. Share your strength with her.”

  “Why me?”

  “Why not? I assume she responds well to powerful people.”

  I bite back a smile when I see Amadeus’ expression change from sulky reluctant to pleased. Sky is a master in finding the right words for everyone. And even good old Amadeus likes a bit of flattery.

  “Are we now ready to have a planning meeting?” I want to get on with it. I know I won’t be able to sleep unless we decide what our next move will be.

  “Yes, we are. Ama will get out the food for supper and then we make plans.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Elise: 4 December 2015, Early Morning, Byron’s Hut

  Waking up in an unfamiliar environment is creepy. Although, after familiarizing myself with the Tribe and accepting they make things happen without my knowledge, I’m now no longer wondering about my sanity. Nowadays I wake up and wonder what went on while I was not around.

  Though I have to say, I never expected to find myself in a small hut on top of a mountain, surrounded by the majestic, snow-capped Southern Alps, enveloped by a turning night sky drunk with billions of stars, at five o’clock in the morning. I guess it’s five o’clock because I have no watch but the lighter shades of blue and purple in the Eastern sky announce the dawning of the new day.

  The cold wind drives me back into the hut. I have no idea where I am. With the door closed, it’s pitch-dark in here. Only a sliver of fading moonlight rests on the black notebook on the small table nudged against the wall underneath the narrow window. The wind howls around the hut, tugs on the roof and the chimney as if it is seeking a way in. There is no use going back to sleep. I’m wide-awake and curious like a cat.

  “Ouch.” On my way to the table, I stub my toe on a stack of wood by the fireplace. It’s a miracle I don’t fall flat on my nose. I take a seat at the table and light the candle next to the notebook. Under the light, I see not only pages and pages of the book filled with new entries but also an old map. Okay, it looks like catch-up time with what the Tribe has been up to yesterday.

  After I’ve read the last entry, I shut the book and lean back. My head is buzzing from a story that sounds too fantastical to be true. This is good, old, laid back New Zealand and not The Fugitive where Dr. Kimble is stumbling from one disaster to another for four years. A murder suspect? A planted gun? The resurrection of a childhood abuser? The flight to the mountains? And how could they lose Prince? I feel naked without him, naked and unprotected. What are we going to do now?

  This wild-goose-chase into the hills as a first response might be a workable tactic, but as a long-term solution, it’s ridiculous. I will not allow the Tribe to push me aside again and put me on ice for twenty-four hours. This time I’ll be ready and have a say in what we will do and where we’re going. For that, I need to stay energized and alert. The four walls of this two hundred square foot hut are too close for my taste. I need vision and for that I need space.

  If someone would look through the window, that person would think I’m panicking and fleeing but I’m not. All I need is fresh air and room to move. Outside, I chose a boulder next to the hut entrance and sit, waiting for the cold mountain breeze to blow the last remaining cobwebs out of my mind.

  The 360-degree view from the hut is spectacular. Forest-covered mountains turn into rocky giants in the distance. In the valleys below, blankets of fog have spent the night in the crevices, holding on to them like a lover reluctant to leave his beloved in the morning.

  The first rays of the rising sun lap at the snow-covered peaks of the Alps. Peace. That’s what it is. Out here I find peace amid undisturbed nature with nothing other than the ever-present breeze, the sound of the waterfall cascading from the rock face behind the hut, and the occasional awakening birdsong. If I could, I would live here, away from money-hungry people and their mindless busyness, their wretched fights for power, and their loveless lives. It’s an unrealistic Pollyanna dream but I like it anyhow and it puts a smile on my face.

  I straighten my back and take a deep breath. I can’t afford to drift off into some fantasyland. My aim is to stay alert and not get lost in my thoughts. A dip in the ice-cold pool at the foot of the waterfall will give me the jumpstart I need. I take off my t-shirt and panties and run toward the pool. With no other person around for god knows how many miles, running around in the nude is yet another level of freedom and carefree living I treasure.

  The moment my feet touch the water, I already regret my spontaneous move. It’s freezing cold, and that’s not a metaphor. I’m thrashing frantically with my arms and legs, otherwise I might turn into an ice block.

  One thing is sure, I’m in and out of the water quicker than a person can count to ten. Another thing is certain too. I’m awake now. Every inch of my skin is tingling as if a colony of stinging ants is attacking me. I bend down and pick up my clothes to re-purpose the t-shirt-come-nightie as a towel. At that moment I’m thrown to the ground by a big, strong beast that whines and yaps and licks my face.

  “Prince! You’ve found me.” My hands close around Prince’s head and I pull him against me. “I missed you, buddy. How did you get away?” My hands are trembling from the cold and from the excitement. I’m no longer alone. Bent over, I stroke Prince’s head and search for the sign of other pursuers. Nothing. Not a single person, not a single sound. Prince must have snuck up while I splashed about in the pool.

  I hurry to the hut with Prince racing ahead, barking, and then coming back. Still wet from my dip I turn the corner of the hut and… freeze. I’m not sure whether it’s because I’m surprised to find Scott sitting on the boulder next to the door or because I’m naked. In the half-light of dawn, I see his discomfort. His face is pale with a flush of crimson working up his neck. He blinks, swallows hard, and looks down. I bet, whatever he thought he’d find, it wasn’t a nude woman prancing about.

  Without acknowledging my state of undress, I brace myself and march past him into the hut. I have nothing to be ashamed of. He snuck up on me. He could’ve warned me. I put on fresh underwear and t-shirt, slip into my cargo pants, and brush my wet hair. Then I’m ready to face the unexpected visitor.

  “Hello, Scott. What a surprise. How did you find me? And how did you get Prince?” I try to give my voice a matter-of-fact tone and I think I succeed. Nothing happened. He saw me naked. I wouldn’t have been the first person he saw naked, and if he’s lucky enough, I won’t be the last.

  “Prince scratched at my door around midnight. I took him to your house, but you weren’t there. He then followed your trail, and here we are.” Deep frown lines are carved into his forehead and he blurts out, “Are you okay? What happened? I was worried.”

  That’s when I remember he must have been walking for half of the night to be here at six in the morning. “Come inside, I’ll put the kettle on and tell you what happened. You must be exhausted.” Together we start the fire in the wood-burner come stove contraption and not long after, the water is boiling.

  “I’m pleased to see you can boil water.” Is he trying to make a joke or is he flirting with me? I ignore his comment and take two tea bags out of
the tin and fill two mugs with hot water. If he is flirting, he’s wasting his breath, because I feel nothing for him. He’s my neighbor, and that’s it. Yes, I feel nervousness in my tummy, but that must be hunger. Heaven knows when I last had something to eat.

  He pulls a second chair up to the table and takes a seat. “Why did you take off?”

  I blow over the surface of my tea and look at him, trying to decide if I should go into lengthy, third-hand explanations of what happened, or if it’s okay with the Tribe if I push the notebook to him to read for himself. After waiting in vain for some kind of reaction from my fellow Tribe people I pass him the book.

  “Here, read for yourself, because I wasn’t around for much of yesterday.”

  While he reads, I sip my tea and watch his face. There are tiny signs that show me what he makes of our notes. The dilated pupil when something surprises him, a holding of breath, a twitching of the corner of his mouth, swallowing, a draining of color, a quick glance at me.

  When he’s finished, he leans back and squints at me.

  “What do you think of it?” The more I’m waiting for his verdict, the more I’m getting nervous. Have I misjudged him? Could he be on my—our—side? It’s getting hard to stay calm. If he doesn’t say something soon, I’ll strangle him. Maybe not, but I would like to. I can’t stand the tension.

  “You can’t stay here. It’s not safe. I’m sure they are searching for Prince. I would like to get you away to somewhere safe. Out here, they’ll catch you sooner or later. I suggest we go to my place using a different route than you took to get here, take my truck and drive to Christchurch. I already spoke to my lawyer friend, and he’s keen to help.”

  “It scares me to get closer to the police again. All my instincts urge me to put as much distance as possible between them and me.”

  “And we will, but not on foot. You’ll freeze to death somewhere between Mount Aspiring and Mount Cook. We need to get wheels and from then on it should be plain sailing.”

  I agree. But I’m aware I am not the only opinion that counts. At this moment I don’t just want approval from the Tribe, I need it. What if I overlook an important point or forget something that needs consideration? Because if they catch us that’s it. That’ll be the end of our dream. I have no illusions about that.

  “Could you give me a little time to think about it? Perhaps you could fill my water bottles with fresh water?”

  “Sure, but don’t take too long.” He grabs my two-liter milk containers and leaves the hut.

  I close my eyes and concentrate on my inner world. Actually, not my inner world, but on the tree house as Sky described it once to me. I don’t think I’m getting it right, but visualizing the others sitting in a big circle seems to help. I can hear voices. Many voices. Not as many as with the choir I’m used to but still too many to distinguish among them.

  “Please, one at a time. I don’t want to do anything that’s not right for everyone. I’d like your input. Scott says we are running out of time, and I believe he’s right. He found us, so the police can too.”

  To my surprise, the voices stop. I never would have thought that to be possible. I only had to ask. And then I hear her. It must be Sky, soft-spoken with a silvery ring like a precious bell.

  “Thank you for asking for our opinion. Yes, it’s me, Sky. I’m sorry we excluded you yesterday. It wasn’t on purpose. We all got swept away by the threat and our fear. Scott is making a good point. We won’t succeed without outside help. We trust your common sense.”

  I can’t believe I’m having a conversation, a real conversation, with one of the others. How is that possible after all those years?

  “My hunch is, it’s a matter of believing it’s possible, trusting the inner world, wanting to connect, and caring about other parts. After all, you are one of us, even if you didn’t know it.”

  So, this is what Miss Marple calls talking to each other. She threw that in as if it’s a piece of cake that takes no effort at all. In fact, it was a rocky road coming to this point. It feels amazing and I’m feeling jealous about the other parts that seem to be able to talk to each other all the time.

  “What did you decide?” Scott entered the hut and put the water bottles on the table. “Or haven’t you yet?”

  “I have. It’s okay. We’ll go with your plan. Give me five minutes to pack and then we can go. Unless you need more rest before we leave?”

  “Don’t worry about me. I’m used to tramping for hours on end. I’ll wait for you outside.”

  My mood is lifting, and I feel like dancing through the hut and singing. I’m no longer alone and fighting invisible time-thieves. We’ve built a bridge. We’ve found a viable path of communication.

  What a beautiful day, what a beautiful moment.

  I almost forget that there is a threat hanging over us that could take all that away and throw us into the darkest dungeon of despair.

  We can’t let that happen. We will succeed. We have to.

  Ten minutes later I join Scott outside. Prince, who’d had a sleep in the warm sun, lifts his head and watches us. When we leave, he follows. I’m sure he’s reluctant to give up his sunny spot for another stupid walk, but after a few miles, he’s jumping back and forth between Scott, who takes the lead, and me. For the first half hour, we walk in silence. I assume it’s easier now walking downhill than when we came up here yesterday because my leg muscles are no longer killing me.

  After an hour we rest for ten minutes, just enough to eat a peanut butter and jam sandwich and munch on a nut-bar.

  “I wouldn’t mind hearing what got the Gateways people so worked up. But only if you don’t mind talking about that stuff.”

  Of course, I mind. What a stupid question. “I don’t know what to tell you, because I don’t know much at all. I know my parents were cold and uncaring, vicious and punitive. I had to call them Mr. and Mrs. Seagar and they punished me whenever I called them Mum and Dad. That’s all I can tell you. They were members of the New Gateways to God Community in Mosvale. That’s where we lived. Ask the others if you want to know more.”

  Scott shrugs and draws lines in the dirt with the stick he found further up the mountain. “Hardly enough to get upset about you coming back into the region. Would someone else have more information?”

  The sense I get is one of lots of people shoving to the back, like people squeezing for shelter under a tiny awning when a squall of rain catches them out. Knowing what’s going on inside is fun. It’s growing on me. Then I get a feeling of being sucked away by a giant vacuum cleaner.

  “Move over, Sugar, I’ll take it from here.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Lilly: 4 December 2015, Afternoon, Coming Down The Mountain

  “Why do you want to know about our past?” I don’t believe in pussyfooting around and—for the life of me—I don’t know what good it will do to spoil a good day with sad stories about even sadder times in the distant past? All it gives you is a bad taste in the mouth, a foul mood, and a stomach ulcer. If Sky hadn’t nudged me to assist and spill the beans, I would have kept my mouth shut.

  One thing is for sure; I’m rethinking my idea to ask Scottie to be my boyfriend. He’s much too deep and meaningful and touchy-feely, the kind of things I love to avoid.

  Scottie grins at me. Bummer, he knows Elise is gone, and it’s me now. This man is getting much too familiar with us.

  “I like to help, and to do that, it would help if I had the whole picture, Lilly.”

  You go ahead and mock me. I know you recognized me.

  “So?”

  “I didn’t always crawl through the bush with a loaded rifle in my hand, sneaking up to deer or wild pigs.”

  “And here I thought you shot your way out of your mother’s womb.” I laughed, although he didn’t join me. No sense of humor. I have to add that to my con-list.

  “That wasn’t funny. Until fifteen years ago I used to be with the forensic unit team of the New Zealand police. I still have a few connec
tions that could be helpful.”

  “Okay, super sleuth, let’s keep walking and I’ll talk. Don’t interrupt me because I might not start again. I barely remember Elizabeth’s parents. You have to understand, we all believe we’ve been born out of Elizabeth. So, her parents are not ours. Elizabeth disappeared at about two years of age. That’s about the time I came along. There are a few photos of her and the parents in my aunt’s possession. In none of them, are we smiling. I couldn’t say whether the parents were happy about having us. Sure is, we weren’t happy about having them.”

  Elizabeth, who is more dead than alive, wouldn’t be able to tell her story, but Sky tapped into her memories and gives words to Elizabeth’s story. I have to speak quickly, or I’ll choke on my words and stop talking. I push my feelings to the back of my mind and take a deep breath.

  “The parents didn’t smile either. I don’t remember them ever expressing an emotion such as love. Their actions didn’t show they loved us. We must have been a wild baby. By the time we were two years old, we were already regulars at the hospital in Port Somers. Twice with a concussion, a broken leg, a broken arm, a broken shoulder, and several burns. I don’t remember any of that, but my body does. I couldn’t say how we got these injuries. All I know is I was petrified of both my parents. Always.”

  I stumble over a rock and reach to Scottie for balance. His face shows shock.

  “We lived at the Gateways compound in Mosvale. I don’t remember any of it, but Maddie showed us her memories of physical and sexual abuse, by the parents and other members of the Gateways community, including Horace and Helen. It’s sickening and I won’t go into detail.”

  I’ve had enough for now and increase my pace until I’m more or less running along the forest path. I feel sick and dirty and if I were alone, I would throw off my clothes and jump into the stream we’ve been following for the last mile. Scottie is panting behind us. He catches up with me and stops me.