by Jane Kurtz
Wait. It was my angel!
“Great blue heron,” Morgan said. “It can nab fish in nothing flat.”
What I thought was an angel was really a bird that nabbed fish? I started to laugh. Morgan squatted beside me and poked a rope of spotted frogs’ eggs. “We haven’t even gotten to the interesting thing,” she said.
Up on the hill Cousin Caroline shouted our names.
Morgan stood up and yodeled, waving her arms.
When Cousin Caroline made it through the tangle of plants, she was carrying a small goat. “Isn’t it cute?” Morgan asked. “It’s like a dog only with four stomachs.”
Cousin Caroline set the goat down and pulled burrs from her braid. “Your dad’s call was from your mom,” she told me. “He went to help.”
I felt a thump-thump of nervousness. “Where’s Isabella?”
“Taking a nap with Lydia. Morgan, we’ve got egg customers coming. Will you get things ready? And get this bold baby back in its pen?”
The goat bleated as Morgan thumped off. Cousin Caroline bent to pick a plant. “Watercress. Try it.”
I nibbled the stem, feeling like a goat myself.
“We eat those cattails, too.” Cousin Caroline pointed to green spikes in the middle of floppy stalks that looked like they’d been trampled by winter. “Wait until you see the summer seeds bursting out and floating down like stars. If I were lost in the wilderness, I could survive better with a cattail pond than with a catfish pond.”
I scooped up a tadpole, feeling life wiggling in my palm. “Do blue herons bite?”
“They throw up on invaders that get too close to their babies.”
My angel threw up on people? I giggled.
Cousin Caroline wiped sweat from her forehead and helped me up. “Everyone says these acres are too hilly and too rocky to farm. But I’m stubborn.”
When we were at the top of the hill and looking down on lavender plants again, my arms were scratched, my knees were still damp from kneeling by the pond, and the wind had picked up my hair and was whipping it into my face. But the air smelled sweet green, and I felt full like I’d swallowed joy—the Christmas-angel-to-all-people kind of joy.
Somebody bellowed. Morgan running uphill toward us with her face red and hot. “Isabella,” she panted out. “She’s gone.” She looked at our faces. “No. Really.”
CHAPTER 28
Searching for Isabella
A day could go from good to bad so fast! “Great-aunt Lydia and I searched the house,” Morgan said. She grabbed her mom’s arm. “I shouted as loud as I could.”
Cousin Caroline was instantly on the move. “Don’t panic.”
“Wait.” I rushed after her. What if . . .
Back in the house, Great-aunt Lydia was twisting her hands together. “Don’t worry,” Cousin Caroline said. “We’ll find her.”
Don’t worry? I had no idea how big an acre was, but it took about five minutes to walk from the chicken house—and I hadn’t even seen Morgan’s side of the farm yet. What about the brush and weeds? “You checked all the rooms?” I asked Morgan.
“Under all the beds and chairs and everything.”
“She went outside then.” Cousin Caroline started for the door.
“Could she have been ambushed?” I asked, hurrying after.
“By what?” Morgan knocked my elbow.
“A rattlesnake?” Rattlesnakes don’t want to meet you, I reminded myself, any more than you want to meet them.
We searched in the corn rows and poppy plants and behind the azalea bushes. I even looked in a wheelbarrow. What would look interesting to Isabella?
Cousin Caroline whistled. The dogs barked.
“I tied them in the goat pen,” Morgan said. “Bob-Silver gets stuck on the hens.”
“The egg customers!” Cousin Caroline clicked her fingers, sounding like Great-aunt Lydia. “Well, they’ll have to wait.”
When Morgan untied the dogs, they scrambled over a water pan and shook muddy water on us. The goat danced around as if to say, “Take me, too.” Cousin Caroline leaned over TJ, rubbing her hands up and down his side. “Time to work, buddy,” she told him. She turned to Morgan. “Take Bob-Silver home and shut him in the house, okay? Grab the harness and bring it for TJ. Hurry.”
Oh! K-9 dogs could do search and rescue!
I scanned the farm. From here I couldn’t even see the chicken house. Too many trees. “What are those tall, round things?” I pointed.
“Silos. From the wheat days.”
“Hollyhock,” I said suddenly. “All rosy red in a ditch.”
Cousin Caroline nodded. Her braid twitched. “There are ditches everywhere on this farm. But let’s check that one at least.”
Isabella could have fallen anywhere.
By the time we got to the ditch, sweat was running into my collar, and I felt like the wind was going to shove me in.
The flower stood in the ditch all alone with no Isabella. We could hear a dog barking, though. TJ, coming closer. “Why can’t Bob-Silver help?” I asked.
“When I was trying to train him, he took me to small, furry animals as often as he took me to evidence. Come on.”
Inside the house Cousin Caroline was all business. TJ was so serious he even tried to keep his tongue inside his mouth.
Hurry. Hurry. My throat was dry and choked. Cousin Caroline wiped a gauze pad on the chair where Isabella had sat for lunch. She held it out to TJ. “Take scent.” We followed him around the house—“the scent cloud,” Caroline said. Then she opened the front door.
On the ramp the wind blew my hair around, and I pushed it impatiently away with sweaty hands. “Don’t run,” Morgan told me.
“Why not?”
“I mean if you get bit by a rattlesnake. If you panic, it makes the venom go into your blood faster.”
Cousin Caroline gave her a look. “No one’s getting bit by a rattlesnake. Best way to survive a rattlesnake bite is don’t get bit in the first place. People worry about snakes and forget about things like heat index.”
Why had I gone off with Morgan instead of watching Isabella? Why?
While TJ zigged and zagged across the old barnyard, Cousin Caroline talked comfortingly about people TJ had found—lost hikers: a guy who had stolen a television and tried to escape through thick woods; a toddler who had wandered away.
Please, God, keep Isabella safe. Big things could get you, like hurricanes. Little things, like heat index, could get you, too.
Never give up hope.
TJ put his nose down. Cousin Caroline nodded. “Now we’re off.”
Why hadn’t I stayed right beside Isabella?
TJ led us straight to the barn and put his paw on Cousin Caroline’s knee. “Good, clever dog,” she said, bending over to give him praise rubs.
“But it’s closed up,” I said. “Are you saying Isabella could be in here?”
“Yesterday I was thinking about drying lavender bundles in the attic.” Cousin Caroline hurried over to the door and gave it a fierce pull. “Wind must have slammed this door shut, and I guess the latch fell down inside and locked it.”
Oh, no, oh, no, oh, no. We had found her, but we couldn’t get her.
“There’s a side window broken out,” Morgan said. “I can get in that way.”
“Me, too,” I said quickly.
Morgan led us to it, and Cousin Caroline checked for any jagged glass. Then Morgan went in, and Cousin Caroline hoisted me up, and for a second I rested my stomach on the old sill. Then over and down.
The barn smelled of straw. I squinted. Thousands of thick spiderwebs. A dangling rope with a knot. Old leather harnesses. Isabella’s coughing floated with the dust.
“Mom,” Morgan called, “run and get some water.”
I stumbled over rough boards and flung my arms around my sister. “Isabella! We found you—TJ did!”
“Go away.” Isabella was shaking. “You went off!”
I knew she didn’t mean it. I knew she was embarrassed
and scared, but it hurt my feelings even if maybe I deserved it. “Forgive me.” I said it silently but with a pure heart. As pure as I could anyway.
A hen squawked. Morgan knelt in the dust and slid a finger under its beak. “It calms her right down,” she said. “Look, Isabella. Did you follow Pinky in?”
Isabella held out her arms to Morgan. Not to me.
I’m sorry I didn’t keep you safe, I wanted to say. Maybe a call from God was too much for a nine-year-old. Even if I was almost ten.
CHAPTER 29
The Biggest Door Slam Ever
Morgan picked Isabella up, and I stood beside them in the shabby old barn, hugging my shoulders. “Great-aunt Lydia used to bring our grandmas here to feed the horses,” Morgan said. “She told them horses like hay the way people like knepp. We could try to figure out the latch, but it’s easier to just go out the window.”
As we groped across the barn, I thought about Great-aunt Lydia twisting her hands. “I don’t think she believes God watches over people,” I said.
“Because she heard so many scary family stories when she was little,” Morgan said. “The church burning. Faith, Hope, and Charity.”
“Were they triplets?” I asked.
“Cousins.”
“Got the water!” Cousin Caroline called. “Send her out!”
Morgan lifted Isabella through and then laced her fingers so I could step into them and up. When I was out, I blinked in the brightness. Isabella was leaning into Cousin Caroline and slurping from a cup.
“Isabella?” I reached for her.
She burrowed into Cousin Caroline.
Just then I saw our car pull around the curved driveway. I saw Mom and Dad get out and rush uphill toward us. In a couple of minutes Dad was scooping Isabella from Cousin Caroline, saying, “I thought she was fast asleep.”
“We found her.” The words flapped out. “TJ did it. She was chasing Pinky, I think. Probably she hated the spiderwebs.” I tried to rub Isabella’s back as we walked.
Mom was talking to Cousin Caroline. I heard “Colorado.” I knew it! Mom was done with this experiment. “My dad is in the hospital,” Mom said.
Wait. I turned. Grandpa in the hospital? Was that the way the power of prayer was supposed to work?
I ran back and grabbed Mom’s arm. “In a minute,” she said. “Let’s say our good-byes.”
Good-byes. Wow. I was leaving Kansas right now.
At the house Dad ran in to get Great-aunt Lydia. I leaned on the car, breathing great lungfuls of dust and heat. “Do you want me to get you a pickle?” I asked Isabella.
Isabella buried her head in Mom. “Give her a minute,” Mom whispered to me. “Everything will be okay.”
It would be perfect. When we got home to perfect Colorado.
Dad came out the door, pushing Great-aunt Lydia in her wheelchair. My brain wanted everything to slow down. Where was Morgan?
With the egg customers probably.
Would I ever see her again?
“Thank you for rolls and pickles,” I said as I kissed Great-aunt Lydia. “Thank you for the rescue,” I told Cousin Caroline as I got in my seat. “I don’t think your farming is doomed.”
She leaned in and kissed me. “You’re all welcome here anytime.”
“You won’t be able to get rid of us,” Dad said, climbing in.
What? Something dark and scared swirled around inside me, even though I couldn’t give it any kind of name.
Good-bye. Seat belts on? Car rumbling. What if . . . I leaned forward. “Are you guys . . . you know. Because if you are, I will never, ever, ever forgive you.”
Dad started the car.
Our family was coming apart. What could I do—and quickly?
Dad eased the car past the sign. “Mom and I aren’t getting divorced if that’s what you mean, Anna. This trip to Colorado will probably be quick.”
“Grandma could use some help,” Mom said. “That’s all.”
My brain whooshed with relief.
Isabella wailed out and kicked the seat. Dad called out, “Stop. Isabella! You’re going with Mom.”
“I am, too,” I said.
“I’m sorry, Anna,” Dad said. “You’re not.”
“What?” The air roared, and I could barely hear Dad saying that I needed to calm down and “Isabella, could you please stop?”
No! This was bad—really bad. “You need me,” I told Mom. “So does Isabella. We should stick together.”
“You and I can manage just fine after school,” Dad said. “You’ll want time with your own friends.”
“I don’t have friends! I don’t need friends!”
“You’ll have friends soon,” Mom said.
Step one, I thought. Be calm. Maintain cool. I took deep, calming breaths until the car pulled into our driveway and we got out. “Help me gather my books I need so I can keep going on my journal article, okay?” Mom hugged me. “I’ll try to keep going on it if I can.”
I hung on. “I’m good at stapling your papers. I can cook. Anything!”
“Oh, honey.” Mom walked me inside the house. “You’re very capable, but you’re not our indentured servant. We want you to have time to play.”
“But I—”
“Anna. Please. Give me a few minutes to get packed up.”
“There’s no point!” I yelled. “The experiment is over!”
Mom combed my hair with her fingers. She claimed she couldn’t even remember she’d said “experiment.”
“Anna.” That was Dad calling. “Can you come upstairs?”
I jerked away from Mom. “No!” I hollered it as loud as I could. No more maintaining cool. “Enough temporary!”
“Oh, Anna.” Mom’s voice frizzed. “Temporary can be six months or even a year.”
A year? A year of a pink room? A year of Simon? When Grandpa was sick and Mom and Isabella would stay with him and Jericho would probably be graduated?
Dad came midway down the stairs. “A great thing about being a kid is that you don’t have to worry about things adults worry about.”
But when I worried, I got prepared. And that was good.
Dad took another step down. “You help me take Mom and Isabella to the airport tomorrow morning. Then have fun in school.”
Fun?
I stomped over and pushed past him up the creaky stairs. The air wobbled around me. If God watched sparrows and me and everything else, I would show God the biggest door slam ever.
CHAPTER 30
Gandhi Wouldn’t Make Me Go to School
Early the next morning I woke up to Dad kneeling by my sleeping bag, giving me a big, squishy hug. I made myself unsquishable. “Get your school clothes on,” he said. “I’ll take you right after we get back from the airport. I have a meeting at the church, but I can get you all set first.”
Nonono. We should stay together. What if Grandpa needed more help than anyone thought? What if Mom and Dad decided they deep down belonged in two different states?
In the car heading out of Oakwood toward the airport, I looked at Isabella. She was in her car seat, sucking her thumb with her eyes closed.
The air was muggy and heavy, and I missed clean, dry Colorado air.
I stared out at the grass. Was it possible to hang on so tight that Mom would have to peel me off one fingernail at a time? “How about a family vote?” I said. “Who’s in favor of staying in Kansas and who’s not?”
Isabella sniffled and looked away.
“Sorry,” Dad said. “Families aren’t democracies.”
“That’s not fair. Martin Luther King and Gandhi wouldn’t be forcing me to stay here without Mom.”
“Anna . . .” He sighed. “We all have jobs. Mine is at this church right now. Mom’s is with Grandpa and Grandma right now. Yours is to go to school right now.”
But I could do much more helpful things than go to school.
We pulled up to the terminal. “Families that got separated in covered wagons had to leave messages pinned t
o sticks or tucked in hollow trees,” Mom said. “Isabella and I will be a phone call away.”
I had no more plans or ideas and only enough time to kiss the two luckiest ducks good-bye. When Dad asked if I wanted to move to the front, I said, “No, thank you. The backseat is the best place for someone my age.”
“Oh,” he said. “Thanks for reminding me.”
All the way home I rested my head against the window, trying to cool my brain. “Dad,” I said. “When you visited Kansas, did they tell stories of Faith, Hope, and Charity?”
“Uh-huh. Three girls born when no one knew if the community would survive here.” He shook his head. “Babies almost always give people new hope.”
“Their teacher never should have let them go,” I said.
Grassy fields flew by outside.
A farmhouse.
A cow.
“Dad,” I said, “how can I help you with the hump?”
“You can maintain cool about school.”
Did he think people might judge him if he let me stay out of school? How massively unfair was that?
When we got to Oakwood, Dad parked in front of the school. I got out, all draggy shoes. “Hey, look,” he said as we went up the steps. “Tornado safety poster.” I didn’t bother to tell him I was already prepared.
I looked at the gray floor. Down the hall. Into the school office. Dad said, “I’ll be here to pick you up right after school, Anna.”
The secretary behind her desk shook her head. “You don’t have to do that. Except for the rural bus riders, everyone pretty much walks home together. Your home is on Cole, right? Very close.”
How did she know who I was and where I lived?
“I’ll be here,” Dad said.
I watched Dad scribbling on the forms she handed him. I shuffled closer to the office door. Outside the school, I heard two small boys calling to each other. Closer, someone clomped up a staircase. At the desk the secretary tap-tapped on her computer.
I was like a piece of paper waiting to be written on. Completely unprepared.
Dad hugged me good-bye. I followed him out to the hall. I put my hands over my eyes and heard a phone ringing behind me in the office and his footsteps fading, and I smelled dust mops and old bananas. This was not my school. My home was not on Cole. “Be with you in a sec, Anna,” the secretary called.
