Hope Girl

by Wendy Dunham

  Dad looks at me and says, “River, how are you doing with all the change?”

  “It’s a little overwhelming,” I admit. “But, I’m happy. I spent my whole life hoping you’d find me, and you finally did.” I peel a strip of bark off the log. “I’m just wondering when Mom’s coming. She knows you found me, right?”

  Dad rolls a blade of grass between his hands. “She’s been told.”

  I look at him, wishing he’d tell me everything. “I don’t even know her name.”

  “Her name?” he says as if I surprised him. “Her real name is Margaret—that’s what everyone called her. Except me. I called her Maggie.”

  “Maggie,” I say mostly to myself. “That’s pretty. And after seeing the picture of her, she looks pretty too. Don’t you think so?”

  Dad takes a deep breath. “Are you sure you’re ready to hear about her? Maybe we should take things in small steps.”

  I shake my head. “When someone’s waited their whole life to know about their parents, it’s not a good idea to make them wait even a second more. And if you think I can’t handle it, you’re wrong. I’m tough and hardly ever cry.” I pull at another piece of bark. “So come on, Dad,” I beg, feeling like I might burst, “answer my question. Do you think she’s pretty?”

  “Oh, I didn’t answer, did I.” Now Dad’s smiling too. But I don’t think he’s smiling so much at me as he is from just remembering. “Yes,” he says, “she was the prettiest woman I’d ever set eyes on. Her hair was shiny brown, the color of a chestnut, and curly like yours. Her eyes were brown too, like yours. But honestly,” he says, “my favorite thing about her was her heart. It was tender and kind and somehow big enough to hold every good thing.”

  “But if her heart is so big, why did she leave you?”

  Dad looks at me with the saddest eyes ever. “River, when you were stolen, something else happened.” Then he stops talking.

  My mind swirls with questions. “Dad, I need to know.”

  He checks his watch. “River, the picnic’s going to start any minute. We don’t have enough time, but I will tell you this—your mother loved you more than you could know. She never went anywhere without you… except for the day you were stolen. She left you with me for only five minutes, but I was so busy taking pictures I never heard her say to keep my eyes on you. When she came back from the restroom, you were gone.”

  We sit quietly for a few minutes, then Dad looks at his watch. “I need to finish setting up.”

  I head home to get Gram, carrying my questions in my heart.

  3

  Nothing But a Lie

  When I reach Meadowlark Lane, I’m surprised at all the cars parked bumper to bumper, but even more surprised to see Gram waddling down the middle of it with a pan of baked beans balanced on each arm. I hurry to help. “Let me take one, Gram.”

  With one less pan of beans to carry, Gram waddles faster until she reaches a full-blown trot.

  I hurry beside her. “Gram, slow down! Your beans are bouncing overboard!”

  Gram lets out a humph. “Oh all right. I just can’t wait ’til everyone sees my beans.”

  “Well, you’d better make sure you have beans left to see.” I hurry to keep pace. “This picnic’s gonna be wonderful—tons of food and even games.”

  “There’s nothing like a picnic celebration!”

  Once everyone gathers, Pastor Henry climbs onto his chair to get everyone’s attention. “Welcome to the first annual Fourth of July picnic at the birding place. We are here to honor our son Billy, who lost his life here just weeks ago. In addition to celebrating Billy’s life and the Fourth, we have something else to celebrate. After twelve years of tragic separation, my brother, Jay, and his daughter, River, are reunited.” Pastor Henry stops talking while everyone cheers. “Most of you remember the discouraging police reports when River was abducted. They said she may never be found and offered little hope. So today,” he says, “let us also celebrate the reunion of two lives—father and daughter!” After everyone claps, Pastor Henry asks the blessing. “Heavenly Father, as we celebrate our country’s birth, we remember the men and women who gave their lives. Our country’s freedom has not been free. Today we also thank you for lives that are reunited. And for those who are not with us, let us never forget. Bless our food and fun on this beautiful day. Amen.”

  As the clapping fades, a bluebird flies over my head and swoops into his house. I smile and whisper, “I’ll never forget.”

  While everyone eats dessert, Forrest and I play on a blanket right behind two women. One’s wearing a yellow dress, and the other, a green one. Forrest made roads using sticks, and he’s driving pretend stone trucks around the village we built. As he pushes the gray stone truck across a bridge, I overhear the lady wearing the yellow dress talking to the lady in the green one.

  Yellow Dress Lady: “Can you believe that girl, River, was actually raised by the mother of the woman who abducted her? What kind of woman raises a daughter to commit a crime like that?”

  Green Dress Lady: “A terrible woman, and I’ll bet the authorities will find her just as guilty as her daughter. We can only imagine what kind of emotional damage River has suffered, the poor child. Even if she has been reunited with her father, she’ll never be right. Damage like that is permanent.”

  Yellow Dress Lady: “Well, I overheard that woman she calls Gram, who’s not even her blood relative, bragging about those baked beans she made. And you can bet I didn’t eat any! For all we know, she could’ve stirred in a pinch of rat poison.”

  Green Dress Lady: “Now, I hadn’t thought of that, but you’ve got a point. She’s probably afraid of losing the girl. A little rat poison would not only get rid of Jay but all her other blood relatives too. That way she could keep the girl all to herself.”

  Yellow Dress Lady: “But she’d have to make certain neither she nor the girl ate any.”

  Green Dress Lady: “Come to think of it, I didn’t see a single bean on either plate.”

  Yellow Dress Lady: “You can see I know a thing or two.”

  I stare at them, hardly believing this could be real. I tuck my head between my knees so I won’t have to hear anymore and rock slowly back and forth.

  Someone touches my shoulder. “Sugar Pie, what are you doing? You all right?”

  I stare at her, wondering whose grandmother she really is.

  “Sugar Pie?”

  I need to say something. Anything. Even if it’s a lie. “I don’t feel good. I want to go home.”

  “Where are you sick, Sugar Pie? In your stomach? In your head? Are you dizzy? Are you fevered?” Then Gram gets a look on her face as if someone slapped her upside the head. “Lord, have mercy! It couldn’t be. But you are growing up and nearly thirteen… maybe I should’ve told you about those gol-darned birds and buzzy bees. Oh, Lord… ”

  Mrs. Whippoorwill hurries over and asks, “Is everything all right?”

  Gram says, “River’s not feeling well. We’re going home.”

  “I’ll go alone,” I say. “I’ll be all right,” (which according to the green dress lady is a lie because I will never be right).

  Mrs. Whippoorwill feels my head. “You don’t have a fever. I wonder if it was the potato salad. Maybe it’s been in the sun too long. Did you have any?”

  I shake my head. “But I did have a lot of beans.”

  “You did?” Gram says. “Not me. They were plum gone by the time I got to them.” She shakes her head. “Well, you go home and rest, Sugar Pie. I’ll be home as soon as I do the three-legged race, the egg toss, the potato-sack race, and the wheelbarrow relay.” Then she turns and gallops toward the egg-toss arena.

  Now that Gram knows I don’t belong to her, she must’ve stopped caring about me. Before, she’d never leave me alone if I was sick.

  I run down Meadowlark Lane to my house and into my bedroom where I land face-first on my bed. I feel like I should cry or do something people do when they find out their entire life has been a lie.
But I don’t. I feel numb (kind of like how your tongue feels when you suck an ice cube too long). Then I take a few deep breaths and remind myself that everything will be okay as soon as I meet my mom.

  I roll to my side, stare at my calendar, and make a wish—that July’s fluffy white kitten would come to life. If she did, I’d hold her close and tell her everything will be okay.

  I pull my diary out from under my mattress.

  Monday July 4, 1983

  3:32 p.m.

  Dear Diary,

  Today was the worst day of my life (except for the day I was stolen, but I don’t remember that). How could my life be so messed up? For almost thirteen years, I’ve been told I was adopted. But I wasn’t. I was stolen. Then to make things worse, I’ve been raised by someone I thought was my grandmother, but she’s not. She’s the mother of an abductor (specifically, the one who stole me). And according to the green dress lady, I’m permanently emotionally damaged. And the yellow dress lady thinks Gram tried poisoning everyone with rat poison. But even though Gram’s not my real grandmother, she’s never done anything to hurt me or anyone else. And if there’s one thing I know, Gram would never own rat poison because she’d never poison a rat—and I know that for a fact. One time back in Punxsutawney, we had a rat in our kitchen. And since that’s not sanitary, Gram said we had to get rid of it. So Gram got down on her knees and caught it with her bare hands (she says it’s downright mean to use a trap). Then after she caught it, she gave it a bath, trimmed its whiskers, and sent him on his way with our last slice of provolone cheese.

  Even though there are some things I’m sure of (like Gram’s view on rats), I don’t know what’ll happen next. I just know I have to get my parents back together. And as far as Gram is concerned, when the sheriff finds out she’s the mother of the abductor, she’ll probably go to jail. It’s a good thing I’ve got my dad now and, pretty soon, my mom too.

  Signed,

  River

  4

  I Didn’t Realize

  The next morning Gram knocks on my door. When I don’t answer, she yells through the keyhole, “Wake up, Sugar Pie. We’ve got more adventures today.”

  I pull the covers off my head. “Gram, you’re hard to understand when your mouth is pressed beneath my doorknob.”

  Gram yells through the keyhole again, only louder and slower, “Would you rather I made one of those communication systems out of two tin cans and a string? You’d be surprised how well they work!”

  “Gram, just come in, okay?”

  “Oh, all right, Sugar Pie. What I was trying to say is that Blue Jay’s coming over. In fact, he’ll be here any minute.” Gram waddles around my room, picking up dirty clothes and tossing them into my hamper.

  “Blue Jay?” I ask.

  “Yes, Blue Jay. I figure I can’t call him Uncle Jay anymore, and I don’t care much for plain old Jay, so I’m calling him Blue Jay.” Gram dusts my dresser with a dirty sock.

  “Does he know?”

  “Course he does, Sugar Pie. And I’m certain he likes it. I started calling him that yesterday when we did the three-legged race together.”

  I pull the sheet back over my head. “Why’s he coming so early?”

  “Well, with all our newfound information, Blue Jay and I need to inform the sheriff. No one’s allowed to steal a child and get away with it. So even though one of the abductors was my own flesh-and-blood daughter and the other, my hare brained son-in-law, they broke the law and need to pay the consequence.”

  I look out from under my sheet and ask, “So do I have to go too since I was the one stolen?”

  “No sirree. Me and Blue Jay got this under control.” She shakes my sock out the window. “Besides, Elizabeth needs your help making strawberry freezer jam this morning.”

  Even though I’m afraid to hear the answer, I ask. “Will the sheriff put you in jail?”

  Gram cocks her head. “Now, why on earth would he put me in jail?”

  “Well, don’t people get in trouble for raising an abductor?”

  “Where, pray tell, did you come up with that? Well, never mind,” she says, “but no, I’m not getting in trouble for something I didn’t do.

  When Gram and Dad leave for the sheriff’s office, I head to the Whippoorwills’. Mrs. Whippoorwill answers the door, holding Forrest on her hip. “Good morning, River. Come right in.” She places a kiss on my head. “River,” she says, “you don’t need to knock—we’ve always considered you family.”

  “Thanks, Mrs. Whippoorwill.” Forrest reaches for me, so I take him and give him a hug.

  Mrs. Whippoorwill puts her hand on my shoulder. “You know, River, you can call me Aunt Elizabeth, but if you’re more comfortable with Mrs. Whippoorwill, that’s fine too.”

  My mouth drops open.

  “Oh, River,” she says, “you didn’t realize?”

  I shake my head.

  She puts her hand on the side of my face and says, “Since Jay’s your father, that makes Henry and me your aunt and uncle.”

  “And the little Whippoorwills?”

  “Your cousins,” she says. “Even Billy.”

  It doesn’t even take a second for this to sink into one of the most incredible feelings I’ve ever had. I toss Forrest in the air. “How do you like that, Forrest? We’re cousins!”

  Aunt Elizabeth laughs while I jump up and down with Forrest.

  “Well,” she says, “let’s head to the garden and see how many berries the rest of your cousins have picked. Then we’ll start making jam.”

  By the time the jam’s made and in the jars, the little Whippoorwills are covered with sticky strawberry juice. Aunt Elizabeth grabs a bar of soap, then turns to me and says, “Let’s take these sticky rascals outside and hose them down.”

  We head outside for a sudsy water war, squirting each other with ice-cold water, laughing and shivering until we’re covered with purple goose bumps. Then we snuggle together on beach towels and dry toasty-warm in the sun like cousins do.

  Later when it’s time to go, I give my aunt a hug. “Aunt Elizabeth,” I say, “you know I can’t wait to see my mom, right?”

  She looks at me with a fake smile. “I can just imagine, River.”

  “Don’t you think she’ll be excited to see me?”

  Aunt Elizabeth doesn’t look me in the eyes but says, “I know I would be.” Then she hands me the bag with Gram’s special pitcher. “Thanks for helping, River. I wrapped your grandmother’s pitcher in her towels and tucked three jars of jam inside. Let them set on the counter overnight. In the morning put them in the freezer. And please thank your grandmother for me.”

  As I walk out the door, I say, “She’s not my real grandmother.”

  5

  All My Fault

  As soon as I reach our driveway, Gram hollers from the backyard, “How was making that strawberry jam?”

  But when I realize what she’s doing, I’m so angry that I yell, “What do you think you’re doing?”

  Gram looks shocked. “Why, I’m hanging your bed sheets, Sugar Pie.”

  “I told you I’d change them!”

  “Well,” Gram sputters, “I was just doing unto another as I’d have another do unto me.”

  “But I told you not to do them!” I run inside, set Gram’s bag on the counter, then run to my room. I lift my mattress, relieved to see my diary exactly where I left it.

  I pull it out and start writing about how angry I am, when all of a sudden I hear a crash in the kitchen. “Gram?” But when there’s no answer, I run to see what happened. Once I’m there, it’s quiet. I look around. The jars of jam are lined up on the counter, and beside them is Gram’s stack of towels. But she’s nowhere. Then I walk around the counter where Gram’s lying on the floor by the stool, and her special glass pitcher is shattered in a million pieces. I grab the towels, push away the glass, then kneel beside her. “Gram? Can you hear me?” She doesn’t answer. I grab a cold cloth and put it on her head. “Come on, Gram, open your eyes.”r />
  Just then there’s a knock at the door. “Anyone home?”

  I know his voice. “Hurry, Dad! Gram’s hurt!”

  Dad rushes over. He puts his fingers on the side of Gram’s neck. “Her pulse is weak. There’s no time to wait for an ambulance.”

  “I’ll back Tilly up to the door.” But when I see Dad’s confused look, I realize he doesn’t know who Tilly is. “Tilly is Gram’s truck. I’ll back her up so you won’t have to carry Gram so far.”

  Now he seems more confused. “You drive?”

  “I have before.” I grab the keys, back Tilly up to the door, and then open her tailgate. Once Dad sets Gram in, I climb in beside her and place her head on my lap. I stroke her silver hair. “You’ll be okay, Gram.” Why was I so mean to her? If I wasn’t, none of this would’ve happened. Guilt sticks in my throat, making it hard to swallow.

  Dad speeds to the hospital and then turns in to the emergency department. Nurses rush to help. As they lift Gram on the stretcher, she opens her eyes long enough to say, “Don’t you worry, Sugar Pie. Now that you’ve got your dad, everything’s gonna be all right.”

  They push Gram through the door and down the hall until she’s out of sight.

  I sit in the waiting room with Dad, feeling guilty.

  Two seconds later Uncle Henry rushes through the door. “River, what happened?”

  I tell him about Gram’s special pitcher and how she should have known better than to stand on the stool. I even tell him how mad I was at her, so he’s probably figured out that’s why she didn’t ask me to put her pitcher away for her. “I’m sorry,” I tell him. “It’s my fault she fell.”

  Uncle Henry looks at me. “River, you can’t take responsibility. Sometimes things happen that we have no control over. God’s in control, not you. Understand?”

  Before I can answer, the waiting room door opens, and a doctor walks in. “I’m Dr. Wing,” he says. After Dad, me, and Uncle Henry introduce ourselves, Dr. Wing tells us about Gram. “Her X-rays show extensive fractures in her left hip and arm. She’ll need surgery to stabilize both areas.”