I wasn't surprised that he immediately offered to come over to the school personally. He was probably intensely bored. In addition, Frances was attending a conference, so he had an even greater excuse for tending to this matter himself.
"Just call me when you want me to come over, Em," he told me. "I'll be here very late anyway. I want to get all this paperwork done while Frances is at the conference."
He rattled off the number of his direct line and we hung up. For a moment, I sat at my desk in contemplation. Situations like this always made me nervous.
First of all, I could not quell the uneasiness that I knew perfectly well was a result of my past. Fear, insecurity and anger still seethed beneath the surface and probably always would. Twenty-eight years of horror, misery and secrets left permanent scars that I was just beginning to be able to ignore—most of the time. Accusing someone of anything, even if justified, often sent me into a state of nerves.
Secondly, I knew it was going to be a tricky balancing act to get Meghan to speak with me, or whisper to me, without betraying Sydney.
At recess, I asked Meredith to come to my office and talk. I told her about Sydney's confession.
Meredith's eyes widened, not with surprise, but with concern.
"Wow. Maybe this is the break we've been waiting for," she said.
My thoughts exactly.
"But if you're asking if I've seen a change in Meghan, I'd have to say no. She's getting a little more comfortable with me in fact. Now when I ask her to read to me, she sits very close and whispers. It's quite a breakthrough, or so I've been told by Rebecca. I haven't allowed Sydney to make requests on Meghan's behalf, so lately she comes up and whispers in my ear when she wants to use the washroom or whatever. But she's never confided anything about being hurt."
"Have you noticed any bruises or anything like that?"
Meredith thought for a moment. "No. She often wears short sleeves and I've seen nothing on her arms. In the gym, she changes into shorts, but her legs always look fine. I hope I haven't missed something."
"Meredith, knowing you, I'm sure that you haven't," I reassured her and I meant it.
I'd been in her classroom often enough to know that she was a very attentive teacher.
"Got any suggestions for an excuse to talk to Meghan today? If I can avoid it, I'd rather not betray Sydney's confidence."
Again, Meredith was silent in contemplation.
After a moment, she said brightly, "I've got it. The other day, when Meghan whispered another story to me, I told her that you'd love to hear her too. I said that you'd be alone in your office, so she could be as quiet or as loud as she wanted to be. Carol Ann gave me the idea as a way to expand Meghan's comfort level in the school."
"Perfect," I said. "I'll come into the class as if it's a normal visit and you can suggest to Meghan that this is the day."
A short time after recess, a reluctant Meghan followed me to the office, a book in hand. At first, she tried to indicate that Sydney had to come with her, but Meredith gently reminded her that she was to do the reading, which meant she should be alone with Mrs. Taylor. She dragged her feet as she walked, head bent, down the hallway.
I walked slowly, slightly ahead of her, talking in a cheerful, low voice, encouraging her every step of the way. When we reached the office, May gave us a cheery wave from behind her desk. Our eyes met and I read 'Good luck' in her expression.
The little girl seated herself on the edge of the chair next to my desk, the book clutched in front of her like a life ring. Her eyelids were lowered, but I had the feeling that she watched me carefully through the veil of her lashes. Yet she did not appear nervous. She did not swing her feet, she did not fidget and she was not stiff and rigid. Her small heart-shaped face was dotted with little brown freckles. She looked solemn and thoughtful, as though contemplating the task of speaking in front of the principal and planning how to manage it.
I swung my chair around to face her, making sure I didn't invade her space, but leaned toward her all the same.
"Hey, Meghan, I know this isn't easy for you. But there's just you and me here. I won't tell anyone whether you read or not. I promise. We can keep it to ourselves if you want. We can just sit here for a few minutes and then go back to class."
At this unexpected offer, she raised her eyes to look at me. A shocking blue, they were beautiful and expressive, like a layered afternoon sky, full of mystery. I smiled at her.
"Or, you can read from your book. You choose."
Once again, she lowered her eyes and appeared to be lost in thought. Then slowly she opened the book and began to read. Her voice was soft, just slightly above a whisper. There was a lilt to her tone that was pleasant and sweet to hear.
She read without hesitation. She was familiar with all the words and had the right expression for each sentence. Not once did she stumble or even seem to take a breath.
She didn't offer to show me the pictures. She simply raced through the reading as quickly as she could without missing any of the story.
When she was finished, she closed the book firmly and once more clutched it in both arms.
"Meghan, thank you," I said, trying to convey with my pitch just how honoured I was. "You are an exceptional reader. I think you're very, very smart."
She looked up at me again, this time with a tiny smile in those big eyes.
"Do you want me to tell Miss Cole that you read to me?"
She nodded.
"Okay, then I will. I've got some little rewards here in my desk drawer." I pulled it open to show her. "Lots of times kids come in here to read to me or to tell me things. Sometimes I let them pick a prize. Would you like one?"
Meghan nodded her head again, her eyes fixed on the messy drawer, filled with stickers and little dollar store playthings.
"Okay, reach right in until you find the one you want."
She got up from her chair, placing the book on the seat, and stood close to me. She searched carefully, picking up each little thing and looking at it.
I could see the fine hairs on her thin arms, her skin clean and freckled, no bruises or scratches to be seen. Her red hair hung in natural curls around her neck, which was also free of marks. She smelled of soap and shampoo. Her dress was neat and fresh, though not new.
While she looked, I tried a couple of questions.
"Do you think your mom and dad will be happy that you read to me?"
Her hands didn't stop moving, examining each offering. She nodded slowly.
"Do you want me to tell them too?"
This time, her hands were still as she slid her eyes sideways to look at me.
"No," she whispered. "I read for them all the time."
"Do you?" I was quiet for a moment. "Why don't you like reading at school, honey?"
She shrugged without looking toward me.
"How do your parents get you to read at home?"
"They make me," Meghan offered.
I knew I was going to risk scaring her away, but I couldn't think of a better moment to insert the topic.
"How do they make you? They don't hurt you, do they?"
At last, she selected one of the little toys and walked back toward her chair. Pausing for a moment with her back to me, she answered by shaking her head vigorously.
"You know you can tell me, Meghan," I urged her, keeping my voice soft and gentle. "No one can hurt other people, especially their own children. Miss Cole and I wouldn't let anyone hurt you."
Meghan turned to face me now, eyes lowered. The murmur was faint and I had to lean even closer.
"My mother and father don't hurt me."
She looked up, her gaze once more layered and cryptic. She surrounded the book with her arms, clutching her reward in her hand.
"I can go back to Miss Cole by myself," she whispered.
"Okay, if you want to."
I opened the door.
"I'll just watch you go down the hall. And remember, you can come back any time if you ever have a
nything that you need to tell me."
She nodded and then virtually skipped down the hall to her classroom.
I gazed at May, who was looking up at me expectantly.
"Well, that wasn't particularly successful," I told her. "She did read to me and she did answer a couple of my questions, but she says nothing is wrong. She certainly doesn't look like she's abused."
"Meghan is the healthiest of them all in some ways," May said. "I think she's more in control. There's something strong about that little girl."
I nodded thoughtfully. "I wonder why she told Sydney that she was being hurt by her dad."
"Maybe she just wanted some attention," May answered. "Sydney's such a motherly type, even at six years old. It might have been a confession that she encouraged in a way. And maybe there's some truth to it, but it's not the physical kind of hurt."
As usual, May's observations were astute and very likely accurate.
Later that afternoon, I called Edgar. He and Renae arrived around the same time. Once we were settled in my office, coffee in hand, pleasantries over, I related the results of my investigation. I also shared May's insights with them.
Renae, her red-tipped spiky hair appearing to be more upstanding than usual, was characteristically effusive.
"There is definitely something going on. But I'm not sure we can actually confront them about abuse. There are no marks. Her behaviour hasn't really changed. And there are lots of incidents of selective mutes that have nothing to do with family and everything to do with a fear of school. And she denies that anyone is hurting her. I don't know that I have any 'reasonable and probable grounds' for taking Meghan out of the home or even questioning her about her treatment by her parents."
Renae was quoting from the Child and Family Services Act and she had a good point. What reason did we have to believe that Meghan needed protection or intervention, other than another little girl's interpretation of her friend's angst, plus a 'gut feeling'? The frustration was obvious on each of our faces.
"What if you went for another home visit, Renae?" I suggested. "You could certainly use me as the complainant. I do have concerns. Meghan has made very slow progress through her silence. The other siblings continue to be peculiarly introverted. I think we have reasonable grounds for at least another home visit."
Edgar nodded his concurrence. "I would agree with that. We can't involve police presence or accuse them of anything, but you do have a valid reason to visit. Don't you think, Renae?"
She chewed on her lip for a moment, her large expressive eyes full of thought.
"I don't know if they'll let me in again, but I can try. In the meantime, why don't I plan to visit the school once a week, as though it's a regular appointment? My caseload hasn't been too heavy, thank goodness, so I think I can spare some extra time for Burchill."
Renae leaned forward, sighing before continuing.
"I have to be blunt though. The Sandersons don't exhibit any of the common characteristics that we would usually see when there is abuse or neglect or even emotional maltreatment."
I could tell that Renae was in her lecture mode. Her eyes were flashing and her voice, normally soft and modulated, was higher and louder.
"At least one or two of those kids ought to be acting out in some way. Their conduct is far too closed, too quiet. We haven't seen any of the usual signs."
She began to tick off on her fingers.
"Self-harming, violence toward others, running away, inappropriate sexual behaviour. There's no attention deficit disorder with any of them. They're accommodating, cooperative, obedient and polite. The only one requiring special education service is Meghan. The parents aren't abusing alcohol or drugs. There appears to be no domestic violence. The kids, except for that one occasion, have been appropriately dressed. Though their clothes are older and worn, they are certainly clean and neat."
She took a breath.
"I realize that we all have an apprehension about this family. And since we are all very experienced, well-educated people who know a problem when we see one, we wouldn't have these concerns without foundation. But we have no proof, no reasonable grounds to go into that home and remove any of them. I will certainly try to make an appointment. I can use the excuse of Meghan's continuing to be mute and doing a follow-up visit, but they don't really have to let me in."
We were silent after the lecture. Renae appeared to be exhausted and agitated at the same time.
"On the bright side," Edgar said, "we do have a plan in place. Renae will try to see them one more time and everyone here is on high alert to watch for signs of abuse. If nothing else, maybe knowing that you are following up will be enough to make the Sandersons toe the line. And Mrs. Sanderson is still volunteering in the school, so that's another line of communication. You're doing everything you can, Emily."
He turned and smiled at me.
"I recognize that look of guilt and frustration, kiddo. But believe me, you are providing a safe haven here at school for those kids and you can be sure the parents will be dealt with if they are abusing them. And they must be doing something to cause every single one of their kids to be so odd. I agree with May. It's probably not physical abuse. It's more likely to be emotional. And that's something we'll have a difficult time proving. But just keep trying to reach them here at school and maybe the kids will have a chance at healthy lives eventually."
Edgar stood up and put his hand on my shoulder.
"Anything I can do, give me a call. I'm kind of bored in the last couple of days with Frances at the seminar, so I'll be happy to come by any time!"
"How long is she gone?" I asked, immediately picturing his slim blond wife, whose feisty personality had so charmed every one of us.
"It's a two-week course," he said morosely. "She calls every night with some exciting tidbit about new policing methods! You can imagine how this old dog is responding to the suggestion of new tricks. Anyway, she'll be back all excited and raring to go, so I'd better take my vitamins."
He grinned slyly, the joy of a marriage later in life lighting up his face.
"Yah, you're so old, Ed," I replied sarcastically, standing up to give him a brief hug. "Thanks for coming over. I really appreciate your support—as you well know."
And a myriad of events from the past, connections that can only be forged by tragedy and extraordinary circumstance, shivered between us. It was a good thing we didn't know what faced us in both the near and distant futures.
Chapter 18: Brimstone
The woman moved the spoon methodically around the bowl. Beside her, the little girl tugged insistently at her apron.
The woman did not move. Her eyes were soft and brown, frightened like a doe's. She remained still as The Preacher Man came into the room and forced the child to kneel in the corner.
He touched the woman's shoulder. She followed him down the hall to the room the little girl has never seen. Its door remained closed always, as it did now. A faint sound of moaning began in the room.
Brother appeared and led her outside. In the yard they sat under the tree, holding hands. He told her again about the house in the meadow with the stream.
She understood only that he loved her. She believed that he would take care of her.
He wished she had known what it had been like when he was young. But perhaps knowing only made it harder to bear the present. He put his arms around her and rocked her, as though he could protect her from everything. His eyes were luminous and brooding.
After a while, The Preacher Man appeared on the back porch. Framed in the doorway, he looked ominous. He was tall and thin and dressed in black. He stared, his eyes flashing with menace, and shouted at them to come into the house.
Standing his children against the wall in the small entranceway, he began to shout, though they were only a few inches away.
"Sinners! Sinners! Dirty little minds!"
His eyes flashed and darted. His face purpled.
"You filthy sinners. Touching. Brother and s
ister love does not permit touching. You have not learned the lessons yet."
He grabbed the little girl by the hair and shoved her into a small dark room. She could feel cobwebs crawl on her face.
She began to cry.
Chapter 19: Jacob
Jacob, his objective legal mind demanding a fairly rigid schedule at first, went directly to his office every day after breakfast, while Helen and Jordan walked Adrienne to school.
Unless he had a meeting, he conducted all of his business through the Internet or the telephone. It was a very solitary situation, so vastly different from the noise and busy-ness of a huge legal firm. But the myriad of issues with which he dealt and the challenge of solving the problems inherent in the requisite negotiations kept him from being lonely.
Three years ago, his first order of business had been to gather and organize all of the information about Oona's land claims and to ensure their protection.
Next, he'd had to negotiate a compromise with the subdivision. Through no fault of their own, twenty different parties had bought houses on land that had been illegally obtained. Some of the homes, already in the fledgling stages of construction, had burned to the ground.
While Oona did not legally owe any compensation—it was up to the individuals to sue the development company—May felt that morally, they had to do something. She knew that the builder had declared bankruptcy, which meant lawsuits would gain the homeowners nothing.
Negotiations with the group of disgruntled subdivision purchasers had actually gone very well. They had happily agreed to pay the previous prices for their homes, despite a change from the original location. That site was now a developing gold mine. Very quickly, Jacob had found a construction company who agreed to take over the building of the homes.
Here was another difference from the city and the negative types of cases with which he'd had to deal. In this situation, people were generally eager to reach a resolution and the companies were anxious to demonstrate their honest and reliable services. They'd been quite willing to allow Jacob to oversee the construction and upon its completion, he'd been nearly as pleased as they. In fact, they'd arranged and invited him to a gala opening, along with May and Alain Reneaux and Oona Nabigon in her wheelchair.
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