Hope Girl (3 page)

“It's perfect,” I say. “And Billy would think so too.”

We sit on the log at the end of the trail where Billy and I used to sit and watch a pair of monarch butterflies dance with each other. In the background, a black-capped chickadee calls out
chick-a-dee-dee-dee
.

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

W
hen 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.