Girl From the Tree House

by Gudrun Frerichs

  “Patrick, I mean Mr. Armstrong, is on the phone. He shouldn’t be more than a few minutes.”

  A medium size, rotund elderly man with a cheerful smile that says I don’t mind eating McDonald’s every day opens the door. He must be spending a lot of time outdoors going by his suntanned skin that stretches over his face like old parchment.

  “Mrs. Reid, please come in.”

  His office, in tune with the rest of the house, looks like a grandfather’s lounge. He’s grouped comfortable soft armchairs around a fireplace and an enormous, carved writing desk stands in front of the window. My nervousness evaporates. Gone, as if it never existed.

  “Your office is not what I expected from a lawyer. You like fishing?” I point to the large picture of a man fly-fishing in a remote river.

  “Thank you. I spend so much time here it has to be comfortable. Every time I can steal a few hours away for fishing is a success.” He stares at me before he shakes his head.

  “How can I help you? On the phone, you said you needed property ownership transferred?”

  “After the death of my husband Horace Reid two weeks ago, I found the deed to Wright’s Homestead, in our family bible. It’s along Flatbush Creek road. It appears it belonged to my mother’s sister. I checked with City Council; it is still in her name. Here is my birth certificate. Could you action transfer of ownership?”

  “As long as nobody else is making a claim to that property, it should be a straightforward transfer. I would have to check whether there are other surviving relatives with a claim on the house. Do you have the document on you?”

  I pass him the deed and wait, confused by his reaction. He stares at the deed, glances over to me, and then back at the deed.

  “How are you related to Amanda Wright?”

  “She’s my mother’s sister. I used to spend a lot of time as a child with Auntie Mandy.”

  “Amanda Wright. I remember when she passed away; we looked for years for surviving relatives. I never expected someone to show up so late.”

  “My parents died two years before she did. By then I lived already with my guardian Horace Reed, who later became my husband.”

  “The similarity is astounding. Amanda was a stunning woman and you look just like her. I remember her coming to town with a little girl. That was you, was it? We would need the marriage certificate and a death certificate of your late husband.

  “I couldn’t get the marriage certificate. When I applied for it online, this is what I got.” I give Patrick a copy of the email from the government.

  “They found no record of our marriage. There must have been a mistake. We married twenty-four years ago.”

  “Leave it to me. I will make a thorough search.” He smiled and rubbed his hands. “At last something other than doing land transfers. You are making my day, Mrs. Reid.”

  “Please, call me Elise. How long do you think it’ll take?”

  “Shouldn’t take me more than a fortnight. I’ll call you once all the documents are ready for you. And you call me Patrick, please.”

  “Thank you. I hope we can clear this up. I live already in the house and don’t want the police to evict me for illegal possession.”

  “My dear, I’m glad someone lives in Amanda’s place. I knew your aunt back in the day. I even whirled her around the dance floor once. She was a kind, beautiful person. My father was her lawyer. I should still have his files somewhere in storage. Port Somers is a small township. We keep things forever. Nothing gets lost.”

  “One day you have to tell me about her. I have very vague memories. Although living in the house, some are coming back to me.”

  He looks at his grandfather clock and says, “My next client is here soon. We’ll talk more next time when I’ve got more answers for you. Please, leave your phone number with Heather.”

  “I will. Thank you for your time.”

  I leave Patrick’s office with a sense of achievement. I found a friendly lawyer. Maybe this is a good place for a new beginning after all? I slip into the van and head home.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Sky: 23 November 2015, Evening, Wright’s Homestead

  The Tribe is in crisis mode. Some child parts are in shutdown, some flipped back in time and are re-living the past, others swing between anger, fear, and worry. Ama is working hard to keep the children safe. Even Lilly and Luke are giving a hand, although they are having a hard time too.

  It all started when Maddie saw the white walls surrounding the compound of the Gateway Community. I hoped we’d have more time before we have to deal with that part of our past. Never have I been more wrong than in this case. Ever since we moved here, events have taken their course at a speed that leaves us limping behind, trying to catch up without ever feeling in control. Memories we had buried for decades burst through cracks in our defenses and into the open with the force of geysers. It worries me.

  I wasn’t aware of how close the Gateway Community is to where we are living now. It can’t be more than thirty miles as the crow flies. The thought of being so close to the place that almost destroyed us is terrifying. Fear is shaking our system to the core. We shouldn’t have come here but it’s too late to change that now.

  What if some of our childhood nemeses recognize us when we show ourselves in Port Somers? Logic tells me it’s unlikely to happen. The forty-two-year-old body must differ vastly from the childhood one. Still, it’s too close for comfort, and everyone is on edge. It means working overtime to keep the Tribe safe.

  I hope for now we’ve contained the situation. Maddie is panic-stricken and gasping for air, but she’s sitting on Ama’s lap, who holds her tight and strokes over her blonde locks.

  “Sky, why did Lucifer shout at Elise in the shop? He thcared her.”

  “Lucifer? Who is Lucifer and how do you know him?”

  “Don’t you know him? I’m afraid of him.”

  “I don’t know him. Is he hurting you?”

  “Luci? No, not us. He’s just very, very angry and puts all the kids in the dungeon. It’s cold and dark in the dungeon. We don’t like it there.”

  It’ll take more than a few kind strokes over her blond locks to calm her down, but Ama is capable of doing it. Ever since she saw the front page of the newspaper, Maddie began spiraling down into the pit. We can’t let that happen. The pit is a dangerous place, many of our young parts spiraled into the pitch-black darkness and we never saw them again. Now I wonder whether the pit and the dungeon are the same. Although, now is not a good time to explore the connection.

  We created a room in the tree house for our lost souls. It has branches with lots of little silk bows tied to it. A bow for every soul we’ve lost to the pit. I’ve read a book once of a multiple who had a graveyard for their souls that died. The thought of putting one of us into the cold ground was inconceivable. We’ve decided long ago that we want every part close-by. Nobody gets left behind.

  Not even Elise. It’s early days, but she’s on her way to becoming one of us. She moves in and out of being comfortable with us. It vexes me that she can’t hear me. I’ll have to write to her about the potential danger the Gateways people pose should they recognize us.

  I’m impressed with how she handled Scott. Her thinking is becoming sharper and clearer. Weaning off the tons of meds dumped on us has been a blessing. There are a few hiccups with withdrawal symptoms, but they are manageable. It’s like a cloud is lifting from us. It has to be a good thing.

  After a long day, everyone went to bed exhausted. Still, fear and pain are stirring through the tree house, like smoke rising from glowing embers in a fireplace. Oh yes, everyone is resting in their rooms, but their minds are far from being at peace. Do we even know what that is, a mind at peace? We long for it with all our hearts but does it even exist? Or is it a myth, an unachievable goal we chase because we don’t know any better?

  I snap out of my thoughts when someone steals down the stairs. It’s Maddie, poor little darling. She hasn’t been the same since sh
e saw the place of her torment on the front page of a newspaper. A sliver of moonlight is stealing through the window, lighting up a corner here and casting a shadow there as if it feels pity for the child and wants to help her find her way.

  She stops at the stove range, takes a matchbox, and lights two of the oil lamps Ama always collects on the dining table before she retires. I’m surprised she knows how to strike a match without burning the house down. She leaves one lamp on the loom and puts the other one next to the basket with the wool.

  With two balls of wool in her hand, Maddie settles on the piano chair and weaves row after row, back and forth. After a while, her shoulders drop, and tension leaves the body. She smiles as she picks a new strand of wool and mumbles a name of a Tribe kid as she works it into her piece.

  Maddie. Wise beyond her years, our little girl did the only sensible thing at this moment. She helped the Tribe to calm down and feel connected by weaving and connecting the different strands. It’s a reminder that together we are strong. Each thread can be torn in no time as long as it’s only one thread.

  The woven cloth, no matter how large or how small, will withstand most threats. I like the metaphor. Weaving is symbolic of the parts of the Tribe coming together. Each thread is distinguishable and beautiful, but together, they turn into a sensational piece of art, a strikingly beautiful symphony. It stands for the dreaded integration everyone talks about.

  Some people create pieces of exceptional, sought after beauty with clay and a pottery wheel. Others make their name with exquisite carvings of greenstone or pounamu as the locals call the jade found in the rivers of the South Island. Elise and Maddie’s unique woven wall hangings can compete with the best of those.

  Maybe that’s an idea for later. Once I read a definition of integration that said, “Integration is when all parts of a person’s personality can say I.” I like that. It doesn’t focus on becoming ‘one’ person. What do people mean by becoming one person? I doubt very much they know either. My gaze drifts over to Maddie who has forgotten the world around her and works on her weave. Love for this beautiful, courageous girl sits high in my throat. I swallow hard. My heart expands against its boundaries to contain the love for her. A life without her is unimaginable.

  I’ve seen so-called normal people change just as dramatically as we do, going from meek and mild to furious in seconds. The difference is, we don’t always remember what another part does, and we have a name for most of our parts.

  When a woman brought a sick puppy to Horace’s clinic, I saw her talking to the receptionist like an adult, to Horace or Elise like a mother, and when she spoke to the puppy, she became the frightened kid. People shift into different parts all the time. The difference is, we are doing it a hundred times better than they do.

  A shriek snaps me out of my dream state. Maddie stands frozen in the middle of the room and stares at the large window. I rush to her and hold her shaking little body.

  “Sweetie, what is it?”

  “I thee a man in the window.”

  When I look out the window, I see nothing, but a pale full moon covered by a thin haze of dark clouds painted across the sky as if the artist ran out of patience and hastily finished his work. Shadows chase each other as clouds rush across the sky, pursuing an invisible destination or fleeing an invisible master.

  No wonder that at night, the woods look threatening. Trees and flowers that create a rich, colorful tapestry after a sweet-smelling downpour on a summer’s day, loom at night like hooded, sinister mercenaries at the edge of our clearing.

  Prince has left his mat in the corner and stands by Maddie’s side, a low growl rolling from his throat, his ears flipping back and forth on the search for a sound. I open the window and lean out. All I hear is the hoot of a night owl in the distance. Amadeus appears at my side.

  “Let me take this.”

  “Somebody there?” He shouts into the darkness with a stern, commanding voice that advertises the total absence of fear. It’s a blessing he took over because I would not have been able to pull it off. I’m not even sure I would have had a voice at all. I strain to listen. The night is without any sound. The still, crisp air is heavy with the pungent smell of the forest and wet soil. Shouldn’t I hear at least some sounds of nightlife in the woods?

  Amadeus closes the window, opens the front door, and shines a weak light from the oil lamp into the garden. Prince barks and sniffs at the ground. Then, without prior warning, he barks and races into the dark. A staccato of footsteps and crunching over forest floor echoes through the night and a few birds, disturbed by the chase, take flight.

  I hear Prince yelping in pain, a car door is slammed shut and a motor is howling in first gear as it speeds away.

  “Prince,” I call for him and run in the direction I saw him disappear. I stop after a few steps when he appears from the trees. He’s okay. Limping, but okay.

  “Good boy. What a brave good boy you are.” Maddie kneels and puts her arms around him. He licks her face. I let him, happy that he’s okay. I check for blood but can’t see anything. The intruder must have hit him with a stick or thrown a rock at him. I only hope Prince got his teeth into the thug.

  Inside the house, I comfort Maddie, who is still shaking. “Sweetie, tell me why you came down in the middle of the night?”

  “I had a thcary dream. They take me to the white house.”

  “They?”

  “The man in the black thuit. He looks in the window and calls for me.”

  “I’m glad Prince and I were here to make sure he didn’t take you. Can you promise me never to leave your bed without telling a grown-up? We don’t want you to get hurt.”

  “You not listen. I talk about the white house and nobody listens.”

  “You mean the one in the newspaper?”

  “Yes, that one. That is the bad house. That is where they hurt naughty little girls and little boys.”

  “But you are not a naughty little girl.”

  “I tell them, but they not listen. They thay me is naughty.”

  “Do you want to tell me what happened in the white house?”

  “I thcared.”

  “Of course, you are. I’m a little scared too, but we have Prince here. He’s a good boy and protects us.”

  “Mummy and Daddy live in the white house. I not want to go back.”

  “You don’t have to. I promise.”

  “But the man in the window. I know him. He wants to take me.”

  “That you told me about him is a great help. I will talk to the others and make sure this man, or his friends will not hurt you ever again.”

  “Daddy has the key to the big, thcary room”

  “Darling, do you know that Mummy and Daddy died and went to heaven?”

  “Yes. No. I don’t remember.”

  “Mummy and Daddy died before we went to live with Horace and Helen.”

  “But that’s a long time ago”

  “A very long time. You don’t have to fear Daddy anymore.”

  “But the man in the window was always with him in the thcary room.”

  “Thank you for telling me that, I will make sure that he won’t hurt you.”

  “You could ask Luci. Luci and Amadeus together are very, very strong.” She sobs and her eyes roll upward. “Make them stop. I don’t want to go. Please, Daddy, don’t tie me up.”

  She’s crying and shaking and tears stream down her face. Then Maddie collapses to the ground and is lifeless. I touch her and get a fright. She’s cold as an ice block. Where is everybody when I need them? I need someone who is able to be with Maddie. Toby answers my call. He appears and takes Maddie’s hand.

  “I told her not to leave the room, but the newspaper frightened her. Do you promise we never have to go back to the white house?”

  “I’ll do all I can. Why are you here?”

  “Daddy and the uncles hurt Maddie with their pokey bits. I come and take her away. Because I’m a boy, they won’t hurt me.”

 
“I’m so glad you can take Maddie away.”

  “I don’t want us to go back there.”

  “We won’t. I promise.”

  “I’m a big boy, I can help.”

  “Yes, you can.”

  “And I can make myself tiny so that you don’t see me.”

  Toby yawns and rubs his eyes. The little fellow has shown so much courage, he brings tears to my eyes.

  “I know you are clever like that. Off to bed now with the two of you.”

  I watch him slink up the stairs with Maddie in tow and my heart follows them. Only when I see them slip into their bedrooms, do I take a seat at the table. We have to do something. Someone from the past has found out where we live. I’m afraid we are underestimating the power our enemies wield. We need a plan that goes beyond relying on Prince.

  I long to sneak over to my room, but I have to let the others know what happened tonight. I pull the black notebook over to me and read. There is not much written in there. Most stuff is from Lilly. She’s got the reputation of a troublemaker, but her heart is in the right place. And she puts us all to shame with her effort to get the communication between us and Elise flowing.

  So far, it’s a conversation between Elise and Lilly. We can do better than that.

  First, I have to get the Tribe interested in writing into the black book.

  This is for EVERYONE. We are in Danger! We need to come up with a plan. Tonight, Maddie left her room, and nobody noticed it. That’s not okay. She came down to weave on the loom when a man looked through the window. If I hadn’t been there, he might have taken her. Thanks to Amadeus and Prince he ran away. He hurt Prince, so it was a bad man. Maddie recognized him as one from the white house where bad things happened. It means the abusers from the Gateway Community know where we live, and they are watching us. Sky

  Chapter Nineteen

  Elise: 30 November 2015, Morning, Wright’s Homestead

  It’s still early, but I’m already late. When I agree to be somewhere at nine o’clock, I’m there at nine sharp and not at nine-o-six or heaven forbid at nine-fifteen. I could be a few minutes early; in which case I’ll wait in the car until it’s the right time.