When I Found You

by Hyde, Catherine Ryan

“He wasn’t yours. He was wild. You can’t own a wild thing.”

  “It still makes me mad.”

  “I did what I thought best. Here, sit down, I have your lunch ready.”

  Nat sat at the table. Fidgeted slightly as she tucked a paper napkin into the collar of his shirt like a bib. He almost never spilled on himself, but she got mad if he took it off. She said when he was old enough to do his own wash they could discuss it again.

  She set a plate of soup in front of him, with Saltine crackers. It was tomato. Nat didn’t like tomato. He liked chicken noodle, but almost never got it.

  “How could he fly away without any feathers?”

  “I don’t know, but he did. Now eat your soup.”

  Nat stirred it a few times as a stall tactic. Took a miniature sip. He had more questions, but had reached the end of Gamma’s patience. She would yell at him if he brought it up again.

  He took the glittery picture out of his jeans pocket. Unfolded it. Nearly half the glitter fell off on to the floor. He set it on the table, straightening it as best he could, while Gamma clucked at him with her tongue and went to fetch a broom from the pantry.

  “My teacher said I should give this to you.”

  Then he stuffed three crackers in his mouth all at once, causing Gamma to frown. He pulled out as many pieces as he could, so she wouldn’t frown like that.

  She leaned the broom against the stove and picked up his picture. “It’s a very nice picture,” she said. “I’ll put it up on the fridge.”

  “What does it mean to be grand?’ he asked, his mouth still full of half-chewed crackers.

  “Don’t talk with your mouth full like that. It’s disgusting. Grand? Oh. Well, really it just means big. Like a grand ballroom. It just means it’s very large. But most times it also means it’s fancy and rich and very showy and such.”

  She finished taping his picture to the fridge while she spoke, then began to sweep up the spilled glitter.

  “What’s grand about you?”

  “About me?” she asked. And then brayed with laughter. “Why, I would say nothing. Not a darned thing that I can see. Why would you ask an odd question like that, anyway? Who ever said I was grand?”

  “Everybody,” Nat said.

  “Everybody says I’m grand? Oh, nonsense. Eat your soup.” Then, a moment later, “Oh, wait. Do you mean everyone says I’m your grandmother?”

  “Yes,” Nat said. “That.”

  “Oh, well, that’s entirely different. That doesn’t mean big or fancy or anything. It just means I’m your mother’s mother.”

  “You’re not my mother?”

  “Of course not. I’m your grandmother. You know that.”

  Had he known that? He had probably heard the words.

  “So my mother is …” But he had no ideas on how to finish.

  “My daughter.”

  “Oh.”

  There was another huge question, waiting. It was right there. Yet he could not pin it down. In some ways it was so simple. As simple as, why don’t we see her around here anywhere, ever? But even in its simplicity it was so heavy, so all-encompassing, that he could not bring himself to box it into those tiny words.

  And, to make matters worse, Gamma’s eyes had filled up with tears. They hadn’t quite run down her face yet. But it was terrifyingly clear that they might, at any minute. And Nat sensed he was somehow to blame.

  Gamma emptied the dust pan and settled back down at the table with him, swiping at her eyes with her huge fingers.

  “Are you sure Feathers flew away?”

  Gamma slapped the table hard with her palm, and Nat jumped a mile. “Now I told you what happened, and I’ll hear no more about it. Eat your soup.”

  “I don’t like tomato.”

  “You don’t have to like it,” she said, causing his hopes to momentarily rise. “You just have to eat it.”

  24 December 1967

  Cold

  On the eve of Nat’s seventh Christmas, Gamma tucked him into bed early. As she always did on Christmas Eve.

  The following morning was the only day of the year he could wake her no matter how “ungodly” the hour. So she insisted they get an early start.

  “Look,” Gamma said, pointing to the window. “Looks like we’ll have a white Christmas tomorrow.”

  “I can’t see,” Nat said.

  He didn’t want to get up and go to the window, because it was cold in his room. Gamma wasn’t made of money, and saved on heating oil by keeping the house as cold as she could possibly stand. Which was colder than Nat could stand. He had just barely managed to gather enough of his own body heat under the covers to stop shivering, and he was not about to budge.

  Gamma went to the window for him, and pulled the curtain wide for him to see. Just small flakes, dry and sparse, swirling in the air outside.

  “Will it stick?” he asked her.

  “Can’t say as I know. Just hold a good thought.”

  But Nat didn’t like snow, because it was all wrapped up in his mind with being cold, which he particularly didn’t like. So he wasn’t sure which way the good thought should go.

  Gamma came back to the edge of his bed and sat, her great weight settling one side of his bed lower than the other and making the springs creak.

  “Maybe my mother could come visit,” Nat said.

  In the moment following the question, he saw and felt a clear reminder of why he never spoke such words out loud. The look on Gamma’s face was something like what he imagined it might be if he had viciously slapped her without warning.

  And, again, that horrible filling of her eyes. The tears that never seemed to break free.

  “Where on earth did that come from?’ she said.

  “Well, only that it’s Christmas.”

  “It’s been Christmas before, and you never said a thing like that.”

  “But Jacob’s father is visiting for Christmas.”

  “Oh. I see. So that’s what brought this on. Jacob’s father. Well, Jacob’s father and your mother are two entirely different cases.”

  Maybe my father could come visit? That was his next thought. And, also, why were they such different cases?

  But the slapped look had passed away from Gamma’s face, and the tears had been pulled back or swiped away, and Nat didn’t want to risk seeing any of it again. Especially not if he was the cause of it.

  It isn’t nice to hurt other people, and if you absolutely must hurt someone, it’s important that you never do it on Christmas Eve or on Christmas Day, or maybe even a day or two before or after that.

  25 December 1967

  Openings

  In the morning, Nat ran downstairs wrapped in a blanket but still shivering. Gamma tried — but failed — to stay close on his heels.

  “I guess I could put up the heat a little bit just for the special occasion,” she said.

  But Nat knew it would take a long time to feel the change anyway, and he didn’t want to wait.

  “Let’s just get to the opening.”

  Gamma handed him two presents. “These are from me,” she said. It was the first year she had admitted that his presents were from her. In previous years she’d claimed Santa brought them. But Nat, even in his child-like willingness to believe, could not help noticing that Santa’s presents often looked a lot like Gamma’s knitting.

  The first present he opened was a pretty good one. A fire truck. Made of metal and wood and painted bright red, it was about half as long as Nat was tall. And it had a real hose that pulled out, and a ladder that got longer and swung in whatever direction you wanted it to go.

  “Thank you, Gamma,” he said.

  The second was the inevitable knitting. A matched set with hat, mittens, sweater and scarf. Deep blue. A nice color, actually.

  But nobody likes clothes for Christmas.

  “Thank you, Gamma,” he said.

  Then she went off in the closet and brought out the third box. It was big, and wrapped in gift paper he had never
seen in this house. He felt himself begin to squirm deliciously. He wished he’d remembered to use the toilet before coming down. Not that he couldn’t hold his bladder; he was not a baby and he certainly could. But now he would have to think about holding it.

  “And this is from the man who found you in the woods,” Gamma said, setting the big box on his lap.

  The last present from The Man, the one he’d gotten three months ago for his seventh birthday, had been a very good one, to say the least. A brand-new hand-stitched leather baseball mitt. It looked very expensive. It was nicer than anything any other boy on his block had. They all oohed and aahed when he showed it off to them. It was a little big for his hand; he’d had to practice gripping it just right from the inside. But he swore his hand had gotten bigger just in the past three months, because he could handle it much better now. Either that or he had finally gotten the grip right.

  He tore wildly into the paper.

  Inside was a box that claimed, by the writing on it, to be a chemistry set.

  He frowned at it, unable to mask his disappointment.

  “But I don’t like chemistry,” he said.

  “Well, he doesn’t know that, dear. Because he doesn’t know you.”

  “Why does he give me presents if he doesn’t know me?”

  “Because he’s the man who found you in the woods.”

  ‘Oh,” Nat said.

  He asked no more questions because he knew the answers wouldn’t settle anything.

  It was not news to him that many people in the world — the entire population of grown-ups, for example — behaved in ways he could not understand.

  26 December 1967

  Trades

  Jacob got to sleep over on the night following Christmas, because it was still vacation from school.

  “Did you get anything good?” Jacob asked Nat, as soon as they’d gotten into his room and out of Gamma’s range of hearing.

  “I got this fire truck,” he said. And showed it to Jacob. “From Ga— From my grandmother,” he corrected, realizing suddenly and for the first time that “Gamma” sounded too babyish. “Did you get anything better than this?”

  “My father brought me a baseball with Joe DiMaggio’s signature on it. But I don’t think we can play baseball with it. It’s too good. And it’s in a plastic case. My mother says it’s worth a lot of money but he only gave it to me because he feels guilty. Did you get anything else?”

  “Clothes. I hate clothes.”

  “Everybody hates clothes.”

  “And this chemistry set.” Nat pulled it out from the closet, into the middle of his bedroom rug.

  “That’s a good one.”

  “You think so? I hate chemistry.”

  “Your grandmother gave you this? Wasn’t she afraid you’d blow the place up?”

  “No, it’s from the man who found me in the woods.” A silent moment. Nat had no idea he’d said anything confusing. But he watched Jacob try and fail to sort out what seemed like straightforward information.

  “A man found you in the woods? What were you doing in the woods?”

  “No. I wasn’t. Not actually. I mean, I don’t think so. He’s just a man who gives presents. Isn’t he?”

  “I never heard of the guy.”

  “You don’t get presents from the man who found you in the woods?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “I thought everybody did.”

  “Nobody I ever met. Except you. What else did he ever give you?”

  “That’s who I got the mitt from. He gives me something every birthday and every Christmas. He gave me an archery set. And binoculars. And he gave me an ant farm, but Gam— My grandmother wouldn’t let me keep it.”

  “Boy, I wish I did have one of those woods men. Let’s see what we can make with this set.”

  So they pulled out all the little test tubes and burners and bottles of various clear liquids.

  Jacob decided they should try to make soap, because it was the very first project in the little booklet and seemed easiest. Nat went along, even though it sounded uninteresting, because he was pretty sure you couldn’t blow up anything with soap.

  They spilled a whole bottle of something medicinally smelly on Nat’s bedroom rug in the process, but they did end up with a thick, bubbly liquid that they supposed was soap. It seemed not a very exciting conclusion to Nat, since they both avoided soap as much as possible and only washed when absolutely forced to do so.

  “We could do another one,” Jacob said.

  “Nah. I don’t like chemistry.”

  “What do you want to do, then?”

  “I don’t know.”

  They lay on their backs crosswise on the bed for a few minutes, looking at the plastic stars on Nat’s ceiling.

  Then Nat said, “I’ll be right back.”

  He padded downstairs, his bare feet freezing.

  Gamma was sitting in her big upholstered easy chair, knitting. And watching a mushy black-and-white love-movie on TV.

  “Who’s the man who found me in the woods?”

  Gamma sighed deeply. “Well, you’re just all full of questions lately. Aren’t you? Now I’m going to miss my show. Well, you were going to ask sooner or later. So go ahead and turn down the volume and then come back.”

  Nat ran to the TV and turned it down, wincing at the fact that a man and a woman were kissing on the screen.

  Gamma’s hands and knitting needles continued to fly as she talked.

  “Every little boy or girl comes into the world like that,” she said. “The stork brings you, and drops you in the woods. In a special secret hiding place. And for each little boy or girl, there’s only one person in the whole world who knows how to find you. And that’s the man who found you in the woods. So if anybody ever says anything to you about your being out lost in the woods, now you’ll know what they mean.”

  Her eyes remained glued to the story playing out silently on the screen.

  “Jacob doesn’t have a man.”

  “Everybody has a man.”

  “Jacob doesn’t get presents from his man.”

  “Well, then, you’re the lucky one. Aren’t you? Now run turn up the sound, hon. I’m missing the show.”

  • • •

  “You wanna trade for it?’ Jacob asked. He didn’t have to say he meant the chemistry set. They both knew what he meant.

  Gamma had tucked them in and turned out the lights. They had to keep their voices down so she wouldn’t know they were awake. Because if she heard them she’d have to come back up and raise Cain.

  “What’ve you got to trade?”

  “My cat is about to have kittens. Trade you for a kitten. You can have your pick of the litter.”

  “I should be so lucky. My grandmother would never let me keep a cat.”

  “Not even in the garage?”

  “She wouldn’t even let me keep the ant farm in the garage. And it was all behind glass. Hey. Maybe I could pick out a kitten but it could live at your house.”

  “Not a chance. My mom says every single one has to be gone in six weeks. I’m lucky I get to keep the mom cat. I had to cry.”

  “What else have you got to trade?”

  “A baseball bat. But it has a crack in it.”

  “Can you hit a ball with it?”

  “Yeah, but one of these times it’ll pop right in half. Maybe not soon, though.”

  “OK,” Nat said. “Deal.”

  And they shook on the trade.

  4 January 1968

  The Issue

  Next time he saw Jacob, it was the Monday after New Year’s Day. The first day of the new semester of school.

  Jacob walked the half-block to stand at the curb and wait for the school bus with Nat. As he often did, if there was enough time.

  “The bat popped in half,” Nat said.

  “Already? Oh. Well. I’ll give you back the chemistry set if you want.”

  “No, that’s OK.”

  They stood i
n silence for a minute or two, watching their breath puff out in great clouds and waiting for the bus as if it were a hangman’s noose or a guillotine.

  Then Jacob said, “I asked my mother. And she said you really were left out in the woods.”

  “I know,” Nat said. “My grandmother told me. The day after Christmas.”

  “Oh,” Jacob said.

  That seemed to settle the issue between them well enough, so that it would not need to be raised again.

  20 March 1973

  Where

  When Nat got home from school, Gamma was standing next to a packed suitcase in the living room. Already twisting a knit scarf around her neck.

  “Where are you going?” Nat asked.

  “Your Uncle Mick is in the hospital. His appendix burst. I have to take the bus to Akron to sit with his kids.”

  “Where will I be?” he asked, hoping she would judge him old enough to stay at home by himself.

  “I made arrangements with Jacob’s mother. She’s making that homemade chicken noodle soup you like so much for dinner. Now run quick and grab your toothbrush and a pair of pajamas, and anything else you think you’ll need, and hurry over there right now. I have to go.”

  Nat sighed, and trudged up the stairs to his room. He pulled his red pajamas out of the drawer, threw them on the bed, grabbed his toothbrush from the bathroom, threw it on top, then rolled up the whole mess, wedging it under his arm.

  He liked Jacob’s house well enough, but the situation made him feel he was being treated like a child — at nearly thirteen years old.

  Gamma stood shifting from foot to foot at the bottom of the stairs.

  “Can you possibly move any slower? You know I have to go.”

  “Why can’t I go? I like Uncle Mick.”

  “Because you have school. And besides, you’re too young to get into the hospital to see Uncle Mick, anyway. You’d only get to see his kids. And you don’t particularly like his kids, if you recall. But that’s not the main thing. The main thing is you are not going to miss even one day of school. Not with your miserable grades. Now here’s a key to the house. I put it on a string so you won’t lose it. So when you need to come home to get more clothes or whatever you’ll be able to let yourself in.”