Dear Evie: The Lost Memories of a Lost Child (7 page)

I must have read the article a dozen times, as if more information was hidden between the words. I knew where the house was, and I knew that it was likely that my parents were not married. I even had a doubt that the man was my father due to the fact that my last name was Moon and so was my mother’s, but not the man she was living with. I wondered if there had been any conclusions as to how the fire started. I had an itch in my brain that made me think I knew how it started, but I couldn’t pull the memory out. It was under lock and key, I assumed, by Evie, who didn’t want to reveal it yet. I was taking notes, writing down everything that came to mind when my cell phone rang and scared the crap out of me. It was Jason and he was frantic. The second I said hello he proceeded to inform me of the hell I had put him through by not calling him all day or answering his messages.

“I’m so sorry; I just got involved in my search and forgot the time.”

“Kat, do you realize you haven’t called me in over twelve hours? I was starting to panic when you didn’t answer your phone all day. I was ready to drive there and look for you if you hadn’t answered this time.”

I glanced at my phone to see several missed calls.

“I put it on vibrate while I was in the library and just forgot. I am so sorry. You know how preoccupied I have been with all this. I am so sorry I worried you, Jason. I will never let it happen again.”

It took a lot of begging for forgiveness to calm him down, but once I did, I told him of my discovery.

“I am almost positive this was the house, so I plan on going to see if there is anything left of it or if there is maybe a neighbor who will know something.”

“Just please be careful and call me, okay? I can’t take another day like this one, Kat.”

I promised to be more considerate and hung up on a good note. It was getting late and I still had not eaten, so I got a few things from the snack machines in the lobby. I purchased peanut butter and crackers, a chocolate bar, and a diet soda. Not exactly the most nourishing meal, but it was almost midnight and my choices were limited. I settled into the bed to attempt sleep, and the last thought I had before drifting off was that my birth mother’s name was Grace. That name had always appealed to me and without realizing it, I had named my daughter after her grandmother. I must have loved her to think of that name with such affection. I drifted off to sleep with that thought on my mind.

Evie was going to take a bath. The house had two full bathrooms but her mother did not own a washer or dryer, so the bathroom near Evie’s room was where her mother would wash their clothes. She would scrub them in the tub, and there were always clothes soaking or hanging all around the room to dry. The toilet and sink were used in that bathroom, but if she needed a bath, she had to use the bathroom located in her parents’ room.

I could sense dread and fear as Evie prepared herself for it. She got her princess nightgown that Mom had found for her at the hand-me-down store. It was where most of the family clothes were purchased, but her mom tried to find cute things that would keep the kids at school from teasing her. She also got a pair of clean panties and warm socks to sleep in. Evie walked to the bathroom slowly and quietly, hoping that only Mama would be there to help. It was a time Evie dreaded, and she tried not to get dirty in hopes that she wouldn’t have to do it more than a couple of times a week, but the man insisted she take a bath most nights. He also insisted on watching her.

“I’ll make sure she doesn’t slip and fall,” he would tell Mama.

He would always send Mama to do some chore in the other part of the house or suggest she take some time to relax and watch something she wanted to on television. If she protested he would become angry and defensive. He would start to yell and curse at her about not trusting him and how he considered Evie like his own daughter. He would tell her this was his special bonding time with Evie. Grace would eventually give in and go downstairs, but I could tell she worried about it. She didn’t want to anger him, but Evie could see concern in her mother’s eyes.

He would sit on the side of the tub and watch Evie as she took her clothes off. I could feel what she felt. My stomach was in knots and I felt as if I might vomit, but I had to hold it down because when that happened he would become enraged. Once he had become so angry when she talked of feeling sick and wanting to get out of the tub, he held her under the water and cursed about her needing to be clean. Evie tried to be careful not to anger him after that. Most of the time, he would sit on the side of the tub, giving his instructions. He would talk in a breathless tone to encourage everything she did.

“That’s my girl. Take the cloth and wash everywhere, Evie. Get yourself clean like a good girl. You do want to be a good girl, don’t you Evie?”

That one statement had come to be evil and scary to Evie. She was only five and wasn’t sure why his actions scared her so much or why they made her feel bad. He never touched her while she bathed, but he looked at her in a strange way and would often put his hand in his overalls and move it around. He would make funny faces and smile and even moan. If Evie tried to hurry her bath and get out too soon, he would stop her.

“No, not yet, girlie; you’re still a dirty girl. Keep washing there,” he would instruct and point to her most private area.

Evie learned that when he took his hand out of his overalls and walked out of the room, it was safe to get out and get dressed. She would leave the room and flee down the hall to her room. She would feel safe in her bedroom because Mama would be waiting there to read to her and tuck her in. Mama would sing to her and brush her hair. They would cuddle and talk and Mama would listen to Evie as she said her prayer. That was her favorite time of the day. When Mama tucked her into bed, she would always say the same thing before leaving the room.

“I love you Evelyn Belle Moon. Promise me you believe that.”

“I promise, Mama.” I woke up with the words on my lips.

“I promise Mama.” It was the first time I heard Evie speak.

I realized I had only been in bed for about an hour when the dream woke me. I would have to try to go back to sleep, but first I had to write in my journal. I had to talk to Evie.

Dear Evie:

You were so brave when the man watched you take your bath. I know it scared you and made you feel bad about yourself, but it was not your fault and you were not bad. Mama loved you and that is good to know. I’m still trying, Evie, to get to the truth of what happened to you. I won’t give up. I promise.

Katherine

I woke up early from what little sleep I had gotten and called Jason to tell him I was okay. I didn’t tell him about the terrible dream or the realization that I may have been sexually abused as a child. At that point I had no memory of being abused, but the fact that I knew somewhere in my subconscious that I was Evie and the things I had been dreaming about must have happened to me was not something I wanted to burden Jason with then. He had enough to worry about, and I was afraid he would insist I come home.

I drove to Maple Avenue to see if I could find where the house had stood. Maybe a memory will come back to me if I just stood there. There was probably a new house there and a new family living in it. After all, it had been close to twenty years since the house burned to the ground. I looked for house numbers to help me determine where the house once stood. There was a garden planted in the lot between house 102 and 106. I stood on the sidewalk trying to picture the house that once was my home and once held my secret torture, I presumed.

A woman from house 102 had been watering the plants on her porch. She started toward me. Watching her walk in my direction felt familiar and somehow comforting. Unlike the librarian, this woman did not fit the image of the typical older lady. Her silver hair was cut in a stylish, short bob, and she was dressed in jeans and a casual button down shirt and held a watering can in her hand. I could tell as she got closer to me that she also felt there was something familiar about me, but I wasn’t ready to accept that I was Evie, so there was no way I would introduce myself that way. Not even to get information from the woman.

“Can I help you with something?” she asked.

“Oh, yes, please,” I answered and extended my hand. “My name is Katherine Hunter, and I was wondering about the house that burned here several years ago. Do you remember the family that lived in it?”

She looked shocked by my question. She was still holding my hand while looking at me as if trying to figure out my motive. I knew right away that she had to have known them. I recognized that look, and I knew that behind those warm and comforting brown eyes were a hundred questions spinning around just as they had been in my own mind for the last few months. She looked at the scare on my hand before releasing it, and I knew that too raised questions; but she was kind enough not ask about it.

“It’s nice to meet you, Katherine. My name is Carla Wilson and to answer your question… yes, I remember them. Why do you ask? Are you related to them in some way?”

The women stared at me as if trying to place my face with a memory. I wondered if she recognized me, but I wasn’t ready to answer any Evie questions just yet.

“Yes, ma’am, I am, and I was hoping to get an idea of what happened to the children that lived in the house. I wanted to locate them if possible.”

I hoped my asking about both of the children would relieve her suspicion as to if she had met me before. Once she stopped searching her brain for the memory knocking at it, she would feel free to tell me what she knew about those poor children from the house next door.

“Well, I remember the lady that lived there. I owned that house and rented it to her and her little girl. Her name was Grace and she was a sweet person, very friendly and helpful… well, until Ralph moved in with her.”

Her expression left no doubt of her opinion of the man who lived there. I was now sure that Ralph Dark was not my father and that left me wondering what happened to my real father.

“What about the children? Did you see them much?” She nodded and smiled.

“Well, the little boy was only four or five months old when the house burned down. I’m not really sure what happened to him, but I heard he went to live with a relative. The little girl, Evie, she was a pretty little thing. That child was as smart as they come and sweet as cotton candy.”

This woman had loved Evie. Just mentioning Evie made her eyes fill with tears. Maybe she felt for her like a grandmother or an aunt would toward a child. For about a minute she just stared out into what I assumed were memories of time she’d spent with Evie. Time she’d spent with me. I wanted to remember, but I couldn’t. Even with my slow acceptance of who I was, my mind drew a total blank up until the age of eleven. The dreams still belonged to a little girl who was sharing her fears with me. In no way did they feel like memories that I owned.

“She would talk to me from the backyard if he wasn’t home,” Carla continued. “I could tell she was afraid of Mr. Dark, and I think Grace was afraid of him too. It was as if a veil of sadness fell over that house every time he walked through the door.”

She looked at me somewhat embarrassed.

“I’m sorry, Katherine. I can’t believe I just blurted that out like that. For all I know you are related to Ralph Dark. I didn’t ask you which side of the family you were from.”

“No, ma’am, I am related to Grace,” I said hoping to relieve her embarrassment. “I’m curious though, why didn’t she just leave him?”

She shook her head, and I knew she had asked Grace that same question.

“In the beginning I think she wanted to be in love. She was lonely and feeling overwhelmed when he came into her life. He was charming and encouraging and made her feel so special. But then once he was in her house, and she had become
physically involved
,” Carla said while making quotation marks in the air as if trying to be sensitive about the subject, “he changed, or maybe he just started being who he really was. She told me once that he said if she ever left he would hunt her down and kill her and that little girl. She believed him too. If I had been in the position to do it, I would have bought her and those babies’ plane tickets and sent them far away from him. He knew I didn’t care for him, and I admit I was afraid of him myself. I had extra locks put on my doors just because of the way he would glare at me. He had a way of looking at a person that made you feel threatened without him saying a word.”