Have You Seen This Child?
Chapter 8: Revelations and a New Beginning
Hell was breaking loose.
"What did you say?"
"Get away from her!"
"Maypenny? Are you--"
"You’re crazy! You are not--"
"Oh, my God, Peter, it is!"
"Trixie? Honey? Did you--"
"Stop it, everyone! Just shut up and listen!"
Trixie had moved into the middle of the room to stand almost between Margaret and Mr. Maypenny when she shouted for silence. She waited, checking to be sure she had everyone’s complete attention, then she continued. "That’s better. Now. It’s true. Mr. Maypenny, your daughter did not die 14 years ago. She was raised instead by that couple over there. It was their daughter who died, and it’s that little girl’s body that’s buried next to your wife. What’s more, I can prove it. Here," she pulled Margaret’s journal from her jacket and handed it to her. "I found this in my house this afternoon. Honey and I were trying to return it to you when you went missing. Don’t worry. I only read one entry, and that was by accident."
"Thank you," Margaret breathed, taking the book and turning it over in her hands. She flipped quickly through the pages. "This has all my notes in it. All the websites, all the documents--everything. My entire investigation is in here." She smiled sincerely into Trixie’s eyes. "Thank you so much! But, how did you figure this out if you didn’t read the book? And how… who…" she stammered, barely able to gesture at the man claiming to be her father.
"Just listen. I have lots to say," Trixie replied, forestalling further reaction from the adults. "Mr. Maypenny, did you bring that photo like I asked?" He nodded and handed her the photo of the little girl that she and Honey had found earlier. Trixie took it to Mrs. Wheeler. "You still have that photo album of Margaret, don’t you?"
Mrs. Wheeler nodded, confused. "It’s right here. I never replaced it after this afternoon." She picked up the album from a small table and handed it to Trixie.
Trixie thanked her, then opened the album to the picture she had remarked on earlier that day. She laid Mr. Maypenny’s photograph next to the one in the album and handed it to him. "Do you see what I saw this afternoon?"
Visibly shaken, Maypenny stared at both photographs. The picture in the album showed a little girl with long brown hair and big brown eyes in a sailor dress. She looked remarkably similar, if a little older, to the girl in the other photograph.
Gently, Trixie touched Mr. Maypenny’s arm. "That is your daughter, isn’t it?"
Maypenny nodded, unable to speak. Trixie took the album and the picture and turned it so that Margaret could see it. "These are pictures of you, aren’t they?"
Margaret nodded. She pointed at the album. "I remember this dress. Mom bought that for me when we went sailing on Lake Erie." She picked up Maypenny’s photograph. "I remember this, too," she said thoughtfully, the memory brushing against her consciousness. "I wanted to wear a crown of flowers like mom…" she gasped, setting the photo back on the album page. "Like mommy had."
Trixie took the album and the photograph and handed both to Sgt. Molinson. "If you remember what you told me earlier, Sergeant," she said, loud enough for everyone to hear, "the Maypennys were only given their daughter’s dress to identify. No one thought they should have to see the body, because it had been so badly mauled. I think somebody did see it, however."
Trixie turned to face the Langs. "Let me guess what happened. You’re from out of state, so you would have had to have been driving through the Catskills, maybe on a vacation or something, and you stopped at the scenic overlook just outside town. Your little girl wandered off. You searched for her and, at some point, you found her. But she was dead. I’m sure it was a terrible sight. Guilt-stricken, you fled the scene, unable to handle what you had witnessed. Then you came across her in the woods," she pointed at Margaret, who was listening intently, an odd sort of recognition on her face.
Trixie continued. "You found her, a little girl who looked almost exactly like your own daughter and thought, ‘that wasn’t my little girl, this is my little girl’ and you took her back to your car, changed her clothes, left her old ones behind and continued on your way as if nothing unusual had happened." Trixie paused as her words took effect. Quietly, she added, "I imagine it was quite a surprise to discover that your daughter had diabetes, wasn’t it?"
Victor nodded, his eyes hollow. "Adele gave her cake and ice cream to make her stop crying and she went into shock and almost slipped into a coma. She was in ICU for a month. We guarded her after that. She never went anywhere alone. We didn’t even send her to school, but taught her at home. But I didn’t know she wasn’t really Margaret until years later." He held up his hand in warning. "I wasn’t there when she went missing and I wasn’t there when Adele brought her back to the inn, already going into shock. We took her to the County Hospital, but Adele made me check her out of there so that we could get a doctor in Erie to look after her. I thought that was unusual, but…"
Trixie nodded. "That was because Adele realized the girl might be recognized by someone if she stayed around Sleepyside. It’s a very small town, after all, and I’m sure you saw the notices for a missing girl."
Victor nodded, barely able to meet her eyes.
Mr. Maypenny spoke up then, his voice rough with unshed tears. "How dare you? How dare you just take a little girl from her home and her family and everything she knows? How could you leave your daughter behind to be mourned and buried by strangers? And what right did you have to mine?"
Adele stood up as straight and as tall as she could. "I have every right!" she hissed. "I am Adele Montrose Lang! Wife of Victor Lang of Lang Technologies! Daughter of Michel Montrose, descendant of the Bourbons of France! I am a daughter of royalty! You are a filthy, backwoods bohemian beggar! What makes you think Margaret would have lasted two weeks with you looking out for her? Could you have given her what we have given her? The best doctors? The best tutors? We have developed her mind into a thing of precision and brilliance! You should hear what her professors say about her. She is a genius, world-class, destined for greatness – all thanks to our involvement in her life!" Adele looked up and then down Maypenny, disgust in her eyes. "You should be on your knees in front of me, thanking me for lifting your daughter out of the mud and muck I found her in into the elevated, rarefied air of the truly gifted and powerful!"
Maypenny didn’t even blink. "You can’t give her the one thing her mother and I could have. The unconditional love and support of her parents."
"Your wife’s dead!" Adele snapped.
"My wife died of grief," Maypenny retorted, his easy-going manner all but forgotten, "guilt-stricken that she had somehow contributed to our daughter’s death. But she had nothing to feel guilty about, did she? She died because of what you did. You should be on your knees begging my forgiveness."
"Stop it! Both of you! Stop it!" Margaret shouted, her hands covering her ears. "I just can’t take any more of this. I just can’t!"
Dan swiftly got to his feet and moved to stand next to Margaret. A bit awkwardly, he put his hands on her shoulders. As she continued to cry hysterically, he gently turned her around and pulled her into a warm and comforting embrace. He stroked her hair with one hand while whispering softly.
Trixie took a deep breath. "It doesn’t matter what happened since you had her in your care, Mrs. Lang. What matters is that you kidnapped her in the first place. For that, you’ll have to face the consequences. You both will, sir, since you didn’t correct the situation once you realized what happened."
Like a rabid animal, Adele grabbed Margaret and tried to yank her out of Dan’s arms. "You can not have her! You are not good enough for her! That is my little girl. Mine!" Her nails dug painfully into Margaret’s arms as Victor tried to pull his wife back and Dan and Margaret held tighter to each other.
"Just keep away from her. Can’t you see she’s upset?" Dan said to Adele, scowling fiercely. Into Margaret’s ear, however, he kept whispering, "It’ll be okay. I won’t let anything happen to you. I promise. You’re safe with me."
Sgt. Molinson stepped forward. "This has gone on long enough and I’ve heard everything I need to. Victor and Adele Lang, I’m placing you both under arrest–"
"No, you don’t!" Victor stepped forward. "You can’t! We’ll have your badge! You can’t kidnap your own child and I adopted her years ago!"
"What did you say?" Mr. Maypenny growled. "You adopted her?"
Chaos resumed immediately.
Even Trixie was shaken. In the midst of all the questions and exclamations everyone threw out, she made herself clear when she asked, "How could you adopt her? You never had her birth parents’ consent!"
Victor had the ill grace to look smug. "I didn’t need it. You can get a judge to do anything if you pay him enough."
Margaret finally turned from Dan, wiping at her tear-stained face. "You’re lying!" Her voice shook. "The first thing I specifically searched for was an adoption record! There wasn’t any! Just the certificate for the live birth of Margaret Lang to Victor and Adele Lang!"
Victor waved her questions away. "It’s all been settled. But perhaps I misspoke. I didn’t mean to suggest that I had gotten a formal adoption or anything. Just a legal document that states that you, the physical, actual person, are my issue, my heir, my daughter, mine. Oh, yes. Adele has one, too."
"Why would anyone need such a document?" Trixie asked.
"To legitimize illegitimate children," Victor smoothly replied. "The actual wording was taken from an old English law designed to allow noblemen to name their mistress’s children legal heirs. I simply told the judge that Adele had had an affair and I wished to acknowledge her child as my own. And then I had a different judge sign a similar paper stating the same thing about me. So you see, Margaret really is our daughter. It’s all quite legal and binding. My dear, you have nothing to worry about," he smiled down at his wife, tucked firmly under his arm.
Trixie searched her mind for an argument, a flaw in his plan – something that would return Margaret to her real father. Nothing came to mind.
"We’ll see about that, won’t we?" Mr. Maypenny said.
"Damn straight," Mr. Wheeler agreed. "And don’t worry about the cost or the lawyers. I’ll have a legal team working on this within the hour. Madeleine and I adore that little girl. We’ll do anything for her."
Molinson just smirked. "You won’t have to do a thing. He’ll still have to prove that either he or his wife is the child’s natural parent and, according to the girl, he can’t. Besides, no court in the country will uphold some piece of paper over returning a kidnapped child to her real father. Face it," he told the Langs confidently, "you’ll be spending a great deal of time in the state pen."
Victor turned to argue further with the sergeant, letting go of his wife. Adele immediately lunged forward and grabbed Margaret, pulling her face to face. "You listen to me, petite chienne, and you listen good! You are coming with me right now and no one is going to do anything about it, n’est-ce pas? You are my little girl now, and that is how it is going to stay! Attendez-moi!"
Margaret gasped, her entire expression and demeanor changing, and tried to yank her arm free, but Adele held her in a death grip. "Stop it!" Margaret cried in an odd, high-pitched voice. "Stop saying that! I’m not your little girl! I’m not!" She stamped her foot in emphasis. "Where’s my mommy! I want my mommy!"
Trixie watched, horrified, as Margaret succumbed to the pure fright of a lost child and tried to use her body to pull her arm free, sinking down almost to the carpet in a vain attempt to become too heavy for Adele to manage. As Dan tried to help her, Margaret began to howl, an unearthly sound that caused the hair on the back of Trixie’s neck to stand on end.
Margaret screamed and kept on screaming: "Mommy! I want my mommy! Mommy!"
Mr. Maypenny, thoroughly enraged at the realization of all that had been done to him and his wife and infuriated at the way Adele Lang was treating his daughter, grabbed Adele’s elbow in a grip of iron. "Let go of my daughter," he ordered in a low growling voice. "Let go of her now and I guarantee you the continued use of your arm."
Adele, a wild look in her eyes, let go of Margaret, letting the girl slump onto the carpet. Margaret began to shake and shudder violently. She kept sobbing, "Mommy? Where are you mommy? I can’t find you. I don’t like it here. I don’t feel good. I don’t like this game. Mommy? I want you. Come get me! Find me, Mommy! Find me!"
Dan and Trixie knelt beside Margaret and began smoothing the hair from her face and wiping her tears away. Startled, Margaret stared straight into Trixie’s eyes. For a moment, Trixie was afraid Margaret had completely broken from reality, but instead, she whispered in a more normal voice, "Trixie? What’s…"
Then, Margaret blinked, uncertain, and lifted her face to stare up at the man standing next to her. The strangely dressed man in tall boots, worn jeans and flannel shirt, his coat and leather-brimmed hat forgotten on the floor behind him, stood tall beside her, like an ancient oak in the deepest part of the forest, and looked down, his face shadowed with memories too painful to be expressed. Margaret lifted her hand, trembling, toward his, and as she briefly touched the weather-beaten back of his right hand, she drew hers away again. He stood still, motionless, as she moved her hand back to his and touched him again, feeling the rough, warm skin. She looked up into his face. Fresh tears glistened in his eyes as she whispered brokenly, "Daddy?"
Bob-Whites of the Glen Clubhouse
Six weeks later
Saturday, 9:15 a.m."Hey, we made the New York Times again," Mart called out to Jim and Brian as he entered the clubhouse. He hoisted the heavy newspaper over his head before letting it slam onto the conference table, shaking it.
"You’re lucky you didn’t spill my coffee," Brian scowled, taking another sip from his travel mug.
"Wouldn’t dream of it," Mart grinned, sitting backwards in his usual chair.
"Forget it, Mart. I’ve got you beat," Jim said, ignoring the brotherly spat.
"How?" Mart asked. "This is our seventh write-up in the New York Times for the same case. How can you beat that?"
Jim had the grace not to look smug. He pulled a magazine out from under the table and displayed it to the brothers.
Mart whistled low. "Get out! The cover of Time? Let me see that!"
Jim easily kept the magazine away from Mart’s hands. "Forget it, kid. This issue’s promised to Trixie." At that moment, they heard the sound of voices and light laughter. "And here she comes now."
Mart smirked, but said nothing as the clubhouse door opened to admit Trixie, Honey, Di, Dan and the current Time Magazine cover girl, the former Margaret Lang.
"Wow," said the newly platinum blonde, "I never thought I’d be so privileged as to actually be invited inside. What an honor!"
Dan held the door for the girls as they filed through, then he and they took their usual positions around the table, inadvertently leaving their guest standing.
"Oops," Trixie said. "I’ll get the extra chair." She stood and hurried to the back storage room and returned a moment later with a folding chair. "Here you go," she said, tucking the chair in between her own and Honey’s. "Have a seat."
"Thanks." The girl looked at the assortment of newspapers and magazines. "Oh. Been doing some reading, I see."
Jim pushed the magazine across the table to her. "Did you want to see it?"
"Ugh, no. I’ve had enough of reporters, editorials and photographers to last me a lifetime." She pushed it back at him.
"Well, I want to see it," Trixie said, picking up the magazine. "Hm," she remarked. "That’s really a nice picture."
"Yeah, I guess. Every year the Langs sat for Christmas portraits. That was mine. Actually, I kind of hate it."
"Well, it doesn’t look much like you any more," Trixie said. "Especially since you’ve changed your hair color."
"Oh, that." She fingered her hair. "Just my way of escaping from my past and reasserting my independence. At least, that’s what my new therapist says."
"How is that going, by the way?" Jim asked casually.
"Oh, well. It’s okay, I guess. I’ve only had a couple sessions. I start a regular schedule this week, now that the trials are all over."
"We read about your m--, I mean, Mrs. Lang. Have you seen her since?" Brian asked.
"Since she wigged out? Yeah. My dad, my real dad, took me to see her last weekend in the psychiatric hospital where she was committed." She heaved a huge sigh. "Since she had her psychotic break that night, she’s been completely out of touch with reality. I’m surprised you heard about it already. Victor was able to keep it out of the papers, but with him in prison now, I guess everyone’s going to find out." She shifted in her seat. "When I saw her, she just sat in a chair in her room, rocking back and forth and muttering. She didn’t even know me. The doctors don’t think she’ll ever get better."
"And Victor?" Brian continued gently.
"He was sentenced to 5-10 years in a federal prison for kidnapping. Even though Adele was the person who actually abducted me, he covered it up."
There was complete silence as no one could think of a thing to say. The girl frowned, looking over Trixie’s shoulder at the cover photograph. "So, what’s the headline this week?"
Trixie read it in a somber, newscaster voice. "Have You Seen This Child? The Decision of the Decade and the Fate of an Heiress." She glanced at the blonde sitting next to her. "Well? What have you decided? Do we call you Margaret or what?"
The girl sighed and rubbed her forehead. "I’ve been giving this a great deal of thought. It’s been tough. I’ve talked to my dad about it. He says he’ll support whatever decision I make. He’s been really cool about all this. I’ve decided, though, pretty easily, that I’m through being a ‘Lang’. I’ve never felt particularly Swedish, anyway."
Mart asked, "How do Swedes feel?"
She laughed. "You ever see an Ingmar Bergman film? Dark and gloomy."
"So, you’re a Maypenny, then?" Dan asked in a neutral tone.
"Yup," she nodded. "It’s kind of a cool name, when you think about it. It’s cheerful."
"And your first name will be…. Margaret?" Diana asked in a less neutral tone.
"Double ick," she sneered. "I’ve always hated that name. Now I know why, of course. No, if I’m going with Maypenny," she paused, thoughtful, "well, Margaret Maypenny sounds kind of okay." She shook her head vehemently. "Nope! I’m not going to do it. Anneka Maypenny it is. Although, I think I’ll prefer to be called Anne. With an ‘e’, of course!"
"Okay!" Jim smacked the table. "I believe we’ve got a bet to settle, Bob-Whites!" He grinned. "Pay up, everybody! Let’s see those wallets, ladies, gentlemen!"
Brian and Mart groaned as they pulled out their wallets and handed some money to Dan. Diana opened her purse, tossing a bill toward Honey. Trixie just dug into her pockets and pulled out a crumpled dollar bill. She tossed it across the table to Jim, who picked it up distastefully.
"Something wrong?" Trixie asked, daring him to reply.
Jim sighed. "No, I guess not. It’s just that…" his voice trailed off. He ran his hand through his thick red hair, rumpling it distractedly.
"What is it, Jim?" Trixie asked again, a bit impatiently.
"Well, it’s not important, exactly, but… well…" He sighed again. "You did say ‘a crisp new American dollar bill’ and this is, well… not crisp and not new."
"Hey!" Trixie sat straighter in her chair. "It’s American, at least! Give me a break."
"Oh, no!" he hastened to assure her, smoothing out the bill and refolding it, shaking his head. "Don’t think twice about it, really. I know how hard you had to work to come by this particular dollar bill."
Everyone at the table laughed as Trixie blushed scarlet to the roots of her hair. A question on her face, Anne asked, "Is this a secret or does everybody get to know what’s going on?"
Tactfully, Honey explained, "Last week, Mart told Trixie he’d give her the ‘entire contents of his Bob-White jacket’ if she would groom Strawberry for him."
Anne nodded. "I see. And all he had in his pockets was the one dollar bill?" She glanced at Trixie. "Why’d you agree to do so much work for so little in return?"
Trixie blushed redder. "I saw him put his tutoring money in his jacket pocket. Little did I know the sneak ‘palmed’ it up his sleeve!"
The laughter around the table grew as Anne scolded, "Mart! That wasn’t a very nice thing to do to your only sister."
"What can I say? She earned every last penny of that dollar! Strawberry never felt better." He leaned back, grinning. "My sister really knows how to groom a horse. And is it my fault she just lost her chance to get some more of my money?"
"Huh," Anne replied, dismissing him. "So, you guys just settled another bet," she continued carefully. "About me?"
"Um, yeah," Jim reluctantly acknowledged. "We’re sorry. It wasn’t very nice, but at the time, well…" He shrugged boyishly. "Some of us said you’d keep your old name, having been used to it, some of us said you’d change part of it and some of us said you’d change all of it. To Anneka Maypenny or something else."
Anne glanced around the table. "I see. After spending every day for the past six weeks giving lawyers and therapists and court-appointed legal guardians a chance to earn a paycheck and kill some time, as well as provide some fodder for the rumor mills and the reporters and photographers who felt lost and directionless after the whole thing with the President blew over, no pun intended, it’s good to know I’m providing some amusement for you people, too."
A moment after her outburst, Anne’s eyes flew open wide, her face flushed and she put up her hands defensively. "I am so sorry! I don’t know what I’m saying half the time. Please, forgive me. I-I-I… I’d better just go." She pushed back at her chair and was up and out the door in a flash.
Trixie stood and hurried after her, saying, "I’ll talk to her."
As the clubhouse door slammed shut, Mart said, "Anyone else think we’re headed for a disaster if Trixie’s the one responsible for smoothing things over? I mean, maybe we should check on them?"
"Mart," Dan said quietly. "I think Trixie can handle it. Give her a chance, okay?"
Mart just hunched down in his chair and pulled the copy of Time in front of him and flipped through to the cover article.
As Mart paged through the commentary and editorials, Honey stood and went to the window. Brian joined her there.
"How’s it going out there?" he asked softly.
Honey rubbed her arms worriedly as she faced him. "Okay, I guess. Margaret--I mean, Anne’s crying, but Trixie seems to be helping, so…"
Brian turned toward her, effectively blocking Honey’s view of the room. He said quietly, "Honey, I was wondering if you might like to catch a movie or something while I’m here. Some guys in the dorm went to see Shakespeare in Love and they said it’s pretty good."
Honey felt her heart leap in her chest and start doing backflips. "Oh, Brian! I’d love to go, except, well," she bit her lower lip, "Trixie and Diana and I saw it already."
"Oh!" Brian took a deep breath. "I see. Well. Okay, then. Did you like it?"
Honey nodded anxiously. "It was really, um… romantic."
"Well. Some other time, then?" He took a step back from her, the hope dying in his eyes.
"Definitely," Honey agreed, wishing she felt freer to suggest doing something else that evening. Unfortunately, the Sleepyside Movie Palace only had 2 theaters and the other movie was--"Life is Beautiful is playing."
His dark eyes lit with the resurrection of hope. "I hear that’s a good movie, too."
"Uh-huh," she nodded. "Romantic and funny. Of course, it’s about the Holocaust…" She shrugged.
"Sounds good. So, can I pick you up at 6:30? We could get dinner in town at Luigi’s."
She nodded, a huge smile on her face. "That sounds wonderful! It’s an Italian movie, so Italian food would be perfectly perfect."
"Great! I’m looking forward to it." He grinned, absurdly happy.
"Whoa!" Mart breathed.
"Something wrong?" Jim asked, flipping through the Times for the crossword puzzle.
"Just reading about the settlement Maypenny reached."
"It’s something, isn’t it," Dan remarked casually, idly flipping through the city news section of the Times.
"You know about it?" Mart asked.
"Well, sure. Maypenny’s been keeping me and Uncle Bill up to date."
"You haven’t told us," Jim pointed out.
Dan shrugged. "One, it’s not my habit to gossip. Two, it’s a matter of public record anyway and three, you guys didn’t ask."
"Sor-ry," Jim cracked. "So. Mart. I’m asking. What’s the settlement?"
"It’s all detailed in this sidebar," Mart said, indicating the page. "Basically, the Langs owe Mr. Maypenny about $5 million for damages, pain and suffering, but they lucked out on the wrongful death claim about Mrs. Maypenny."
"What was that about, anyway?" Diana asked, uncomfortably aware she was breaking into a ‘guy’ conversation about current events.
Mart frowned. "I think it was about the fact that Mrs. Maypenny wouldn’t have died if the Langs hadn’t kidnapped Anneka. I mean, Anne."
"The lawyers put that in there," Dan remarked quietly. "Mr. Maypenny only wanted an apology and his daughter back. I don’t know what he’s going to do with the money besides earmark it in trust for Anne." He glanced up from the newspaper. "He wants to be sure she has enough cash for whatever college she wants to go to and anything else she wants to do, too."
"Go on, Mart," Jim requested. "What else does it say? I haven’t read it yet."
Mart returned his gaze to the page. "Well, besides the $5 million to Mr. Maypenny, and the formal apology, Anne gets to keep her trust fund of almost $100 thousand and some stock in a development firm in Ohio that her other dad gave her on her 10th birthday. And her dog, Pepper. In all, not a bad haul."
"Considering her likely future medical bills, I hope it’s enough," Dan commented.
"Huh? I thought Mr. Maypenny matched as a donor," Jim said.
"He did," Dan said. "So did David, his nephew. But the procedure isn’t a cure, it’s just a way to get her out of the danger zone. Another 5 or 10 years and she could need to repeat the operation. Her system is just too badly damaged to be reverted to anything resembling normal. She’ll always be on daily insulin, for example."
"You seem to know a lot about this," Jim said carefully. "Any particular reason why?"
Dan glanced sharply at Jim. "Should there be?"
Jim sighed. "How long are we going to be doing this?"
"Doing what?"
"Acting like we’re fighting when we’re not. It’s getting old." Jim noticed Mart and Di get up and leave them alone. Jim leaned closer to Dan and spoke softer. "Are we fighting? Because, if we are, I want to resolve it and move on."
Dan took a deep breath. "I’m sorry, Jim. I don’t know why I’m so edgy. I’ve been preoccupied with a lot of things lately and I guess I’ve been taking them out on you." He brushed his long hair off his face. "I’ve been hitting a lot of ‘anniversaries’ lately. Not the good kind, either. It was just two years ago that I moved here, you know. Right at this time. Which means that it was two years ago last month that Eldon and Darci were murdered, I was arrested and then brought up here and all that stuff happened."
Jim nodded. "I understand. I get this way every time May rolls around. That’s the month things got really bad with my step-father and June is when I finally got out of there." He paused a moment. "It’s hard to think about it, isn’t it? How close you can come to losing everything without ever realizing it. Makes you wonder if you’re close to losing it all right now."
The corner of Dan’s mouth lifted in a semi-smile. "Honestly? These days, the only thing that keeps me going is knowing that Anne needs me."
Jim grinned slowly. "So, it’s like that, is it?"
"Kind of. We’ve bonded, you know? She relies on me. She trusts me."
"Plus there’s the obvious," Jim said. "When she’s not being a b--, well, a witch, she’s actually kind of pretty."
Dan just shook his head slowly and chuckled. "You have no idea."
Mart and Di, noticing that Dan and Jim needed to talk and that Honey and Brian seemed to be concentrating on each other, busied themselves with the snack counter. After a moment, Diana shook her head slowly. "I still can’t get over it! How she just crumpled to the floor and stared up at Mr. Maypenny and called him ‘Daddy’! Gives me shivers. What I don’t understand, though, is if she recognized him then, why didn’t she recognize him when he first came in the room?"
Mart answered, "Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. I asked Brian about that. He studied it in some class last semester."
"But isn’t that what happens to war veterans?" Diana asked.
Mart nodded. "Sure. They used to call it ‘shell-shock’ or ‘battle fatigue’, but it doesn’t have to be a battle situation. As Brian explained it to me, any sufficiently traumatic experience can cause that effect. When children experience a traumatic episode, particularly before they’re 7 or 8 years old, it can have even more devastating consequences. Memory lapses, suicidal tendencies, depression. Nightmares. The original trauma could resurface in any number of phobias or behavioral quirks."
"Honey said she had a nightmare that very same night she came home from the hospital."
"And she wasn’t taking very good care of herself. Children with PSTD tend to believe and act as if they won’t live to be adults. They live as if their days are numbered," Mart continued.
"But surely, she was too young to really remember," Diana pointed out. "And she was at least kidnapped by people who took care of her, right?"
Mart shook his head. "Brian says that since by age 2, which she was, children can easily recognize their parents and their homes, and know the difference between a friend or relative and a stranger, she knew she didn’t know the Langs. What made it worse, however, was that Mrs. Lang gave her a great deal of sugar in an attempt to calm her down. It’s what apparently triggered her diabetes. Her system went into a total meltdown. They barely got her to a hospital in time. You have to figure that, in the space of a few hours, she was kidnapped and fed a large amount of sugar – what to her was poison – and then hospitalized for a month. But then to have every adult around you telling you that these were your parents? Heck, it’d make me freak out, too."
"But she was born with it, wasn’t she?" Diana asked. "I mean, Mr. Maypenny said that his wife had diabetes, too."
Mart shrugged. "He also said that his wife was controlling her diabetes so well, she was down to less than one shot of insulin a day. She even had a trouble-free pregnancy. Chances were that their daughter wouldn’t have exhibited any symptoms at all, had she been raised in the same, natural-foods environment that Mrs. Maypenny thrived in."
"It’s just so sad," Diana said softly. "So awful."
Mart put his arms around her and held her close, comforting her as best as he could.
"Hey, guys," Brian called out. "I think maybe it’s safe to check on them. Let’s go, okay? I still want to get some riding in, and we’ve got more business to take care of."
The others agreed, and soon everyone was out the door to check on Trixie and Anne.
Anne hadn’t gone far. Trixie found her leaning on the trunk of a maple tree, her head turned. Trixie stopped her approach a few steps away. "Anne?" she asked softly. "Are you all right?"
Anne shook her head. "No. I’m not all right. I don’t think I’ll ever be all right." She looked at Trixie. Tears rolled over her thin cheeks in twin rivulets. She shrugged helplessly. "I don’t know what to do."
Trixie, however, did know and didn’t hesitate. She stepped forward and pulled Anne into her arms, holding her as the smaller girl dissolved into wracking sobs. As she patted Anne’s back and murmured soothingly to her, her mind reflected on her sudden impulse to hurry after her. Why hadn’t she let Honey or Diana or even Dan do this? They had more experience with this sort of thing, she knew. She supposed, however, that following through on an impulse to help someone in emotional distress, rather than physical or legal distress, meant she was finally growing up.
A moment later, Anne pulled away and wiped her eyes. She stared at Trixie through clumped lashes, then grinned. "I didn’t expect you to follow me out here. Thanks."
Trixie felt a stir of embarrassment, but kept herself from folding her arms. "You were upset. I couldn’t just let you leave like that."
Anne nodded. "My therapist says I should expect sudden mood shifts. She says it’s only natural, especially now after the trial."
Trixie frowned. "I’d think the trial would have been the stressful part."
"Well, it was. Don’t get me wrong. These past two months were the worst of my life." Anne smirked. "That I can clearly remember, that is. I’m sure the kidnapping was worse."
"Do you remember anything about it at all?" Trixie asked, then mentally slapped herself. How could you bring that up?
But instead of snapping at her, Anne turned thoughtful. "I’m starting to. The therapist has taught me some relaxation techniques, and she tried hypnosis on me. That seemed to help some. And being here helps."
"Do you remember living here?"
Anne nodded. "For the most part, I think so. I remember the woods. That’s why I was walking through them in the first place. I clearly remembered Mr. Lytell’s store, because that’s where we’d go to get supplies. It was a Big Event." She chuckled ruefully. "I remember thinking that was Sleepyside. Just that one store."
Trixie grinned. "I think I did the same thing! When we’d go into Sleepyside, though, I remember asking if it was the city. My parents didn’t understand I was asking if it was New York City. You know, Manhattan. Gosh, I haven’t thought of that in… forever, I think. I must have been, maybe, 3 years old?"
Anne’s smile turned sad. "I would have been 4." She took a deep, shuddering breath. "We would have grown up together. My dad says he and my mom took me for ‘play dates’ with your brothers and you. Apparently, I liked to play with your blocks." Her eyes welled up with tears yet she laughed as she said, "Dad says I used to take Brian and Mart’s Tonka truck, load it up with your blocks and race it through the flower garden."
"That was you?"
Startled, the two girls turned to see the Belden brothers, Honey, Jim, Di and Dan standing nearby. Brian had spoken.
"Um, yeah," Anne replied, hurriedly wiping her face. "At least, that’s what my dad says."
"I remember that! Mart, don’t you remember some little kid taking our toys and ruining them?" Brian turned to his brother.
Mart frowned. "I think so. Maybe. I always thought it was Trixie, though."
"As if!" Trixie mocked. "You guys never let me get close enough to your stuff."
"How could you think it was Trixie?" Anne asked. "We don’t look anything alike."
"Think about it," Brian explained, "There’s a girl in the neighborhood who comes over to play once in a while, then disappears and no one mentions her again, yet when you remember it later, you can’t put a name to the face, so you just assume it was someone you know now. In this case, I thought Trixie was the brat burying my Tonka truck in the garden."
"Brat!" Anne and Trixie shrieked together. Startled at their unison, they stared at each other, then began to laugh.
"No kidding, you guys knew each other?" Dan asked, stepping forward.
"I think so," Brian replied, nodding his head. "But I’d have to ask Moms and Dad about it to be sure. I tell you, Anne, they’re really happy to have you back. In fact--"
"That reminds me," Trixie interrupted, ignoring Brian’s words, "Moms wants you to come to dinner just as soon as you can. You and your dad, of course. She’s real excited about getting to see you again."
"Yeah, I can imagine," Anne replied. "I know I haven’t been around these past few weeks, but I’m sure you can all understand why. What with one trial and another, having to go back and forth to Sugar Grove, to New York and spend all day in stuffy courtrooms or doctor’s offices, I haven’t been able to see anybody. I got all their cards and flowers, though. I just wanted to thank them in person, is all."
"So, that’s a ‘yes, we’ll make plans to show up’ or what?" Mart asked.
Anne blinked at him. "That’s a yes."
"Great!" Trixie cheered. "Then that makes the rest of our meeting a snap. As long as you keep that word handy."
"Oh, wait! That reminds me. Dan?" Anne grinned. Dan looked at her expectantly. Anne took a deep breath and announced, "I’m formally evicting you from your room. As of tomorrow, I expect that room to be cleared of all your junk. Got it?"
Dan laughed and nodded. "I got it. Yeah, I guessed that would happen. Uncle Bill has already checked with Mr. Wheeler and he’s agreed to let me live in the other apartment above the garage. It’s small, but it’ll be fine."
Anne nodded once. "Well, that was it. Now that my dad has legal custody over me again, I’m moving out of the lap of luxury straight into Little House in the Big Woods." Anne grinned. "I guess I should let you guys get to your meeting, though. Aren’t you going back inside?"
Anne took a step backward, but Trixie took her arm. "You can’t leave yet!"
"You’re on the agenda," Mart said.
Confused, Anne frowned. "I am? Why?"
Trixie grinned at her. "All shall be made clear," she said mysteriously. "Honey? Are you ready?"
Honey grinned and announced, "We’re all set here, Madam President." She took a small red bundle out from behind her back and handed it to Trixie with great ceremony. Trixie gestured for everyone to pay attention, then she said, "On behalf of all the Bob-Whites of the Glen, I am proud to present to you this official Bob-White jacket, and offer you full membership in the BWG’s, with all the rights, privileges and responsibilities that that entails. Do you accept?"
Tears shining in her eyes, Anne took the jacket and gently shook out the folds. Her brown eyes instantly found the perfectly perfect stitching over the left breast: Anneka. "You put my name on it!"
"Your real name," Honey confirmed. "Because we want the real you to join our family. We’re all brothers and sisters here. That means we look out for one another and-"
"--and protect one another," Jim continued.
"--and support one another," Dan offered.
"--and defend one another," Brian said.
"--and help one another," Diana smiled.
"--and inspire one another," Mart grinned.
"--and love one another," Trixie said, adding, "although that one’s a little tough."
The newest Bob-White laughed. "And you one-up one another, too! I think I can manage that!"
"There’s just a few rules you have to agree to," Trixie warned. "You have to pay dues, but not more than you can afford. Just what you feel you can spare. And, and this is most important, the money has to be money that you’ve earned yourself. You can’t just write a check out of that trust fund or donate your stocks."
"But of course I earned that money! I was a loving daughter to two horrible people for almost fifteen years! You don’t think I earned that money?" Anne looked for support among the group.
"What we mean is physical work. Labor," Jim explained. "Honey takes in sewing and is Mother’s personal secretary when she’s in town. Trixie gets paid for taking care of Bobby. Dan is your father’s assistant. Mart takes in odd jobs around town and tutors kids after school. Brian and I work at college. He works in the infirmary and I’m a part-time assistant for the Psychology Department. You need to come up with something you can do to earn some cash."
Anne thought a moment, still holding the jacket in front of her. "Well, I’ve always been pretty good with a computer. I guess I could manage to figure something out about that. Maybe I could tutor kids, too. I’m pretty good in calculus and physics. And I will be attending regular school starting Monday. Which will be a pretty new experience for me. Apparently, I’ll be going in as a Junior, whatever that means exactly, so that I can have a full school year here before graduating with kids my own age and then going to college."
Honey snapped her fingers. "Forget all that! I know what you’re going to do and you’ll just love it!"
"What?"
Honey grinned. "Come on. Put on that jacket and let’s go up to the stables. Since Daddy bought your horse from that government auction, he said that Regan would be allowed to hire on some part-time help on account of it. Now, it would be an hour or two a day, plus all day Sunday, which is Regan’s day off, and most of Saturday, and Tuesday night, because that’s his half-day. What do you think?"
"Work with horses? I’d love it!" Anne said eagerly, slipping on the jacket. "How do I look?"
"You look great!" Trixie beamed and impulsively hugged her. As they separated, however, Trixie noticed the other girl’s eyes suddenly start to well up with tears. "What’s wrong?"
"Nothing," Anne replied. "Nothing at all. Everything’s really, really right. Let’s go so I can apologize to my new boss for the rude things I’ve said to him in the past." As they started up the hill toward Manor House, Anne fell into step next to Dan. She said quietly, "Do you think he’ll forgive and forget?"
"Sure," Dan said, reassuringly taking her hand in his. "That could happen."
The Bob-Whites of the Glen hurried up the drive to Manor House, laughing and shouting in the simple exuberance of being alive, being young, and being in upstate New York on a perfectly clear February morning with nothing to do but ride horses and have fun.
Inside the stables, they were surprised to find Mr. Maypenny and Mr. Wheeler speaking quietly with Regan. The men looked up as the noisy group entered.
Mr. Wheeler called out, "Good morning, everyone. Going for a ride? It’s certainly beautiful weather for it!"
"Hey, Red!" Anne called out as they approached. She nodded to Regan and smiled at her father.
Honey gave her own father a quick peck on the cheek. "Hi, Daddy! We decided it was too nice a morning not to take a ride, so here we are!" Matthew smiled indulgently at his daughter, lifting a strand of her honey-blonde hair out of her eyes.
Mr. Maypenny watched Matthew and Honey and felt a strange stirring in his gut. Was it jealousy? Now, that wasn’t something he’d had much experience with. True, there was that time, before he’d declared himself to Katrina, that he’d made such an absolute fool of himself over her, thinking she was in love with Lytell. How wrong could one man be? he reminded himself ruefully. Still, his own daughter tensed up when she was around him, and when they were alone together, she could barely speak to him. How was he going to handle the next 18 months until she went away to college? Mentally, he shook himself. I’d handled Daniel, hadn’t I? But then, Daniel was a rebel, and you understand how such young men think, having been a particularly rebellious one yourself. What do you know about girls? I understood Katrina. But that was easy. All you had to do was love her. Well, then there’s my answer. She’s my daughter. All that I have left of my wife. Love her. No matter what.
Aloud, Mr. Maypenny said, "Anneka, that is a beautiful horse. Regan was telling us how exceptionally well-trained he is."
Anne blushed. "Thanks." She turned to Matthew. "Oh, Red, thank you so much for buying Whistler! He means so much to me. I’m glad he’s gotten such a good home, and that maybe I’ll be able to spend some time with him?" She smiled hopefully.
"That’s my plan, all right," Matthew Wheeler said, beaming. "It just didn’t seem right for that beautiful animal to go to just anyone, so I snatched him up. I trust Honey has mentioned a certain part-time job to you?"
Regan looked a bit cautious. Anne just grinned. "She has and I accept. I’m thinking then that, if I take this job, part of my duties might be to continue Whistler’s training?"
"Not just that, dear," Wheeler said, "but Madeline and I hope you bring home lots of trophies and ribbons with Whistler. We expect you two to do well at the upcoming county shows."
"Oh! We will," she said, already hurrying toward Whistler’s stall. "I promise you, we will. Hey, guy, I really missed you!" She reached over the door toward a tall, gray and white horse. The Bob-Whites followed, taking a good look at the new addition to the stables.
Mart asked, "Why did you name him Whistler? Does he come when you whistle for him or something?"
"Well, I did teach him to do that, but that’s not why." She grinned impishly. "See his speckled coloring? Well, he looks almost exactly like his mother. See," she chuckled, "his mother was an arrangement in gray and black. Get it?"
For a moment, silence reigned. Then Diana burst out laughing. "Oh! I get it! That’s really funny!" When the others Bob-Whites demanded to know what was so funny, she explained. "Tell me if I’m wrong but, the painting everyone calls ‘Whistler’s Mother’ Whistler himself called ‘An Arrangement in Gray and Black’." She glanced around at her friends, dismayed to see not a whit of recognition among them. "Well, I get it, even if these philistines don’t!"
"Ouch!" Mart pretended to be shot. "I may not know art, but I do know what a philistine is! I shall bone up on that very subject as soon as we return from our ride. Shall we get started?"
The three men watched the bustle of activity as the Bob-Whites scurried for bridles, saddles and horses. Mr. Wheeler nudged Mr. Maypenny. "You know, you two look a lot alike."
Micah Maypenny grinned. "Thank you, but to me she looks most like her mother. For that, I’m grateful. Why should a young lady want to look like an old man, anyway?" He laughed and Matthew and Regan chuckled.
"I’m grateful for all you’ve done for her, through the years. She told me that, most times, you and your wife were the only friends she had," Micah continued.
Matthew sighed. "She was just such a lonely child. Victor and Adele never let her out of their sight. I mean that quite literally. She was never alone and never allowed to play with kids her own age. It’s odd. Madeline has trouble relating to our own daughter, but with ‘Margaret’, she never seemed to have any difficulty at all."
Micah nodded thoughtfully.
The Bob-Whites had saddled their chosen mounts and led them into the stable yard. As Mart helped Di up behind him on Strawberry and Dan moved to help Anne into Whistler’s saddle, Regan interrupted.
"I have a few words to say to you, before you actually start working for me," he told Anne. She turned, expectant, and waited for him to begin. Dan took one look at his uncle’s expression, backed away and mounted Cranberry.
"What’s up, Boss?" Anne grinned. Inside, her heart began to pound. The last time they had spoken, she had practically torn his head off for suggesting she groom her own horse. Now she was going to work for him. She steeled herself. How bad could this actually get?
"First," Regan began firmly, "when you work for me, you do as I say, no questions. No running to ‘Red’ or your father moaning about how I mistreat you or make you do work or anything like that. No complaints and no back talk and especially, no crying. I can’t stand women who use tears to get what they want. Furthermore," he said, forestalling her question, "I won’t be interrupted. You can talk when I’m done, but all I’ll want to hear is ‘yes, Regan’ and ‘right away, Regan’. Maybe I’d like to hear ‘good morning, Regan’ or ‘have a nice day, Regan’, but that’s about it." He folded his arms and stared down at her. She didn’t reply, but she didn’t look angry, either.
"Good," he said, and continued. "You’ll be here from 3:30 – 5 every day after school to muck out the stalls and clean up the tack room. When you ride, you’ll be responsible for taking care of your horse. That means, rubdown, grooming, feeding and cleaning the tack. You don’t pawn off your chores on anyone else, you don’t ask for help and you don’t whine about it, either. I don’t want to see any of the Bob-Whites doing your work. That’s not what you’re getting paid for.
"You don’t leave until I’m satisfied that your work has been done adequately and to my satisfaction. I won’t be taking any time off until I’m certain that you can handle things here on your own, which means I’ll be with you every Tuesday night from 6 – 9:30, every Saturday from 8 until noon and every Sunday from 8 a.m. to 6 p.m., which will probably make me pretty cranky. You can bring your lunch or eat in the Wheeler’s servant’s kitchen with the rest of the staff. Cook will show you where that is.
"You take better care of the horses than you do yourself. That means you don’t bring them back sweaty and foaming at the mouth and you don’t leave them afterward until they’re comfortable. However, given your condition, I expect you to take well enough care of yourself that you don’t endanger the horses." He finally paused. "You got all that?"
She hesitated and then grinned hopefully, opening her mouth to speak. In her periphery, she noticed the Bob-Whites glancing over to where she and Regan stood, and her father and Red watching intently as well.
"Good," he continued, "because there’s more. If you ever, and I mean ever, speak to me the way you spoke to me the first time you came here, I will personally see to it that, not only will you be unable to ride a horse again, you won’t want to even consider it. Do I make myself clear?"
Anne hesitated, then asked. "Can I speak now?"
He looked wary and stern. He nodded. "Go ahead."
She nodded firmly. "Good. Then, this is what I have to say. I accept your terms and I’ll be here tomorrow at 8 a.m. sharp to begin work. I’m confident that I’ll be up to any challenge you toss my way, but I also want to make it clear that I’ve never done any of this before, though I have seen people muck stalls and such. So, as long as you don’t get too upset with me if I make a mistake with it, then I think it’ll all work out. And I’m sorry about the way I treated you before. It was incredibly rude and unforgivable, but in my own defense, I was under a lot of strain."
Regan hesitated, then nodded. "Apology accepted," he said gruffly.
Anne took a deep breath, looked up at the handsome, redheaded groom and smiled, holding out her hand. "It’s extremely nice to meet you, Regan. I don’t know who that other girl was, so you can make out my paycheck to Anne Maypenny."
Regan slowly grinned back at her as he shook her hand. "Anne, I think we’ll get along fine."
The Bob-Whites breathed a collective sigh of relief. Anne had finally passed a test with Regan, a major accomplishment considering her first impression. They waited while Regan helped her into the saddle, give a few more instructions, then send her on her way. As usual, Jupiter and Susie struck out for a path into the woods; the rest of the horses instinctively followed behind.
Honey didn’t join in the free-flowing conversation that started. Anne wanted to know what public school was like and there were no shortage of opinions. Instead of offering her own take on the education system, Honey just smiled, incredibly pleased that all her childhood dreams were coming true. She had friends. She belonged to a secret club. She helped people. She went to a normal school with regular people. She was no longer chronically ill. She no longer had disturbing nightmares. She had a date that very night with the nicest, handsomest boy she knew.
Honey Wheeler was happy.
Hee-hee-hee!
Honey looked sharply to her left. Immediately, she saw a small child, a little girl with long brown hair and big brown eyes standing in a brilliant shaft of light. She wore a bright red-checked dress, long white stockings and white party shoes. She grinned up at Honey and waved a thin hand.
Honey reined in her horse, causing Lady to nicker.
"Honey?" Brian, several yards ahead of her, looked back. "Something wrong?"
She met Brian’s friendly concern with a question. "Do you--?" But as she turned to gesture at the sight, the image of the little girl in the light faded into nothingness.
Honey stared into the bushes, but could see no sign of the little girl. She rubbed her eyes and looked again. Still, nothing. She shook her head to clear it, then smiled hesitantly back at Brian. "No, nothing’s wrong. Just my eyes playing tricks, I guess." She urged Lady toward him, dismissing the incident entirely.
"The others have gone on ahead," he told her. "Are you sure you’re okay?"
Honey smiled at his consideration. "I’m wonderful. I can’t remember the last time I felt this happy."
Brian grinned at her. "I don’t think I have ever been this happy."
Honey gave Lady a kick and moved up alongside Brian. "Then the feeling’s mutual?" she asked, a bit daring.
"The feeling is definitely mutual," he replied, and they rode up the trail together.
The End