Luckily, Kit was stronger than most men, and he was that one man in a hundred who seemed to know his own strength. He subdued
the girl without hurting her. She
was
strong, but I wondered if she was also light—for flying. I wondered if she had hollow bones?
I jumped right in there and hit her with the needle. The drug dropped her like a lead weight. Her piercing shrieks were still
bouncing off the mountainsides, hanging in the air, but they were getting weaker.
And then she was out.
I didn’t know she’d bitten Kit until I saw him squatting with his right hand tucked under his left armpit. That wasn’t good;
it could be very bad, in fact. I grabbed his hand and looked at the bite mark. She’d left a perfect impression of uppers and
lowers—but she hadn’t broken the skin, thank goodness. Had she held back from hurting him? If so, why?
“You don’t look so good,” I told him.
“I’m okay, Frannie. Take care of her.”
I took a deep breath and began to work. We got most of the net off the little girl, and I took her pulse. It was a normal
sixty-four beats a minute. She was sleeping soundly, but for how long?
I moved long, wet strands of hair off her face. There were dark blue circles under her eyes and her lips were dry and cracked.
Again, I was visited with an eerie feeling that this child had been physically abused. It turned my stomach.
“How long will she be out?” Kit asked.
“I’m not sure, but if she metabolizes at the same rate, say, as a large dog, she’ll be out for a couple of hours. Oh hell,
who knows?
”
He nodded and the two of us continued to watch the girl in silence. We couldn’t help ourselves. I wondered what Kit was thinking
about, what he
knew.
He was lost in thought, or maybe awe. I put my hand on his shoulder.
“Let’s get her down off the mountain,” I said.
I was having a powerful Sunday-school fantasy: perhaps this little angel
was
a messenger from God. But if she was, what was the message? And who was it for?
H
ARDING THOMAS was furious, absolutely enraged. He kicked hard at the mound of ashes heaped in the campfire. A gray cloud of
soot rose from the ground.
The fire was cold, and there was no telling how long ago it had burned out, or who had been there.
Except that he’d found a long white feather nearby on the ground. She had been right here, and not long ago.
He turned to Matthew, his bait, only that plan didn’t seem to be working out so far. “She’s losing her precious feathers.”
“Like hell,” Matthew sneered, but there was fear in his eyes. He
knew.
“She’s smarter than you, times a hundred.”
“Maybe so, but we’ll find her soon. She’s not far from here.”
Thomas put the white feather in his cap band and removed a cell phone from its leather pouch on his hip. He didn’t want to
make this call, but it had to be done. It was his duty. He tapped out a few numbers and was connected.
The reception was as clear as the mountain air. He weighed and measured each word as he spoke to the person on the other end.
“She’s still out here, not in plain sight, but we’re very close. Unfortunately, she might be getting help. Someone may have
found her in the woods, or maybe she found them. No, I don’t know that for certain, and I don’t know who the hell it is. Maybe
campers, or backpackers. We’ll soon find out. Unlucky sons of bitches, whoever they are.”
T
HE DOSE OF KETAMINE had worn off and the girl was literally bouncing off the walls. My cabin was too far from anything for
anyone to hear her violent pounding and loud thumping, but I could hear her. Kit could hear her. We weren’t concerned about
the noise. We were afraid she would hurt herself.
I sat beside the door to the spare room. I talked to her through the door, soothingly, I hoped.
Of course, I had no idea what to say, where to start, or even how to communicate with her. But I knew, I thought, this would
probably be the most important conversation of my entire life.
“My name’s Frannie,” I began, trying to sound as nonthreatening as possible under the circumstances. “I’d like to be your
friend. I want to help you. I’m sorry about what happened up on the mountain.”
The pounding stopped for a second, then it resumed again, even louder, wilder, and angrier.
“I’m real sorry about what happened back there, sweetheart. You’re safe here, even if it doesn’t seem like it. We had to catch
you in order to help you. I don’t like holding you against your will.”
The kicking and pounding, and shrill, frustrated screams continued. I had no idea whether she understood a single word I’d
said. It certainly didn’t seem like it.
I kept talking, anyway.
Talking very slowly, calmly, I told her that I was a veterinarian, a doctor who cared for animals, who cared about animals.
It happened to be the truth, however self-serving, and that seemed like a good place to start with her.
“I wish I knew something about you,” I said. “Since I first saw you on the road that night, I’ve been worried about you. I’m
pretty sure you’re hungry. Am I right? I wonder if there are people who love you and are looking for you right now….”
She was quiet for a moment. I breathed a sigh of relief. Had she finally understood?
Then the noisy commotion began again. She started kicking the walls, and I was afraid the place would fall apart. If I thought
she’d been wild and crazy before, now she was really wound up. She let out a high-pitched shriek that could have shattered
plate glass. What a
syrinx
she had.
I lowered my voice. I didn’t even know if she could hear me, but I started talking again. “Are you hungry?” I asked. “My friend
is a very good cook and he’s making lunch. Spaghetti with tomato sauce. Do you like spaghetti?”
I stopped talking—held my breath.
Then I heard the distinct sound of
sobbing.
It was no longer hysterical screaming. It was more an exhausted crying, pitiful, and the sound was heartbreaking to me.
Did she understand? Sometimes she seemed to, but then I couldn’t tell. I really wanted to help her. Strange—I wanted her to
like me, too.
I knew what I had to do next. I took a very deep breath, then I exhaled slowly. “I’m going to open the door. I promise I won’t
hurt you. I promise, I promise…. Don’t hurt me, okay?”
I opened the door just a crack and peered in. The girl was hunched over in the bed against the wall. She looked wired, unbelievably
tense, and maybe ready to spring at me. Oh Jesus! I had the thought that she was larger than some mountain cats.
Don’t be afraid of her, at least don’t show it.
I cautiously slipped inside the room. My legs were definitely a shaky and unreliable means of transportation. My mouth was
dry.
Then I did the unthinkable—I closed the door behind me.
Frannie the Sap.
I squatted down so that I wasn’t standing over her. Animals feel less threatened with me that way. So what if I was completely
open and vulnerable to an attack. I didn’t think she would go after me.
I saw tears sliding down both her cheeks. She looked just awful, incredibly sad, used up. She was sniffling and hiccuping
and crying all at the same time. She seemed so human, and in so much pain. She was breaking my heart and I didn’t know how
to help her.
Justalittle girl. All alone, obviously sad. What had happened to her?
“Aw, Jeez,” I said softly. “I wish I knew what to do for you, sweetheart. I’m really, really not going to hurt you. Neither
is Kit.”
The girl wiped her face on her arm. The gesture was familiar and reassuring, very human and childlike. She was still staring
at me. Her bright green eyes were intensely beautiful, brimming with tears.
Then she opened her small mouth. She looked like she was trying to communicate something. What was it?
“I’d like some spaghetti, please.”
I
’D LIKE SOME SPAGHETTI, PLEASE.
The little girl could talk.
Kit had to see this. Right now. I wanted him to see and
hear
her. Good God Almighty! I wanted the entire civilized world to hear this.
Just then Kit called out, “Frannie, soup’s on.”
I have no idea on earth what my face must have looked like at that moment. But I was striving for composure when I said to
the girl, “Shall we go to the table? That’s Kit. I think the spaghetti’s ready.”
She whispered, “I’d like to wash my hands.”
Wash her hands?
We were actually carrying on a conversation. We were, weren’t we? Oh God.
“Just a minute,” I called out to Kit. He had no idea! My voice was a muffled squawk, but I thought he’d heard me.
I opened the door for the little girl and she walked out past me. I’d asked her to trust me; I had to show some trust, too.
She took a few steps, then turned back.
She hesitated. Her eyes held a question.
“Oh yeah,” I said and smiled. “Turn right.”
She smiled back at me. The girl
smiled
at me and I
melted.
She was absolutely beautiful, and also charming. She was a little girl, for God’s sake. She couldn’t be any older than eleven
or twelve.
I gave her a fresh towel and washcloth. “Thank you,” she said, and closed the door to the bathroom. I heard her using the
facilities and it seemed so unreal. The tap water ran, then shut off. Kit wasn’t going to believe this. Hell, I almost didn’t
believe it myself.
A few moments later, the bathroom doorknob turned slowly and the girl opened the door. She emerged slowly, first just peeking
cautiously around the doorjamb. God, she was something else! Her eyes were intelligent, probing mine. She’d washed her face
until it was pink and shining. She was such a little beauty. How in hell had this miracle happened? How could it be?
“Come on. Let’s eat,” I said.
“Spaghetti? Or
soup?
” she asked, then grinned.
I smiled at her.
I got it. She’d made a little joke.
“Very cute,” I told her. “You’re funny.”
“Yeah,” she continued talking. “I’m cute as a button. So they say.”
They? Who the hell was “they”?
I pointed. “That way. Straight down the hall.”
T
HE TWO OF US entered the tiny dining area just as Kit was bringing a full pitcher of sun tea to the table. He started, fumbled,
but nimbly caught the pitcher as it was headed toward the floor.
Good hands.
He recovered his cool admirably. The G-man. He carefully set the pitcher of tea down. He wiped his wet palms on the back of
his jeans.
“Hi, guys,” he said. “I see we’ve cleared up our little differences.”
“Maybe,” the girl said. “We’ll see.”
I saw Kit’s jaw actually drop. It fell a good four inches. “Oh. Well, that’s nice to hear.”
It was amazing that the wild creature of just hours ago, the one who’d tried to break his bones, the one who’d bitten him,
was talking to him now. She was witty and funny, too. Where had she learned to talk, and how to act? Where had she come from?
“This is my friend Kit,” I said to the girl.
“Hello,” she said softly. “You’re the cook, right?”
Kit’s jaw dropped again. He nodded his head. “Yeah, that’s me. The chief cook and bottlewasher around here.”
I pulled out a chair for her and the girl wriggled into it. “Thank you,” she said. She was
polite, too.
I went to the kitchen, as if this were the most natural thing in the world to do. Alone in there, I tried to stop myself from
hyperventilating, tried to get a grip. I brought out the salad bowl, utensils, napkins. I brought a dinner plate for the girl.
Placed everything on the table.
My arms, my legs, my hands, everything felt strangely disconnected and discombobulated. My hands were clammy. My body felt
as if it were lost in space. I was suffering a little tunnel vision. Other than that, no problem.
I couldn’t tear my eyes away from her as I attempted to toss the salad.
“Kit,” I said.
He looked at me. Didn’t understand. “Yes, Frannie?”
“The spaghetti,” I said. “Some of us are starved.”
“Oh. Right.” He stumbled against a chair, righted it, and went back to the kitchen. He soon returned with the steaming bowl
of pasta.
All the while the girl was watching our every move. I was still trying to look nonchalant and wondered if either of them could
hear my heart racing, pumping like an old oil well. Did the girl really trust us at all? Would she suddenly bolt from the
table? Try to escape from the cabin?
Kit spoke to her, and he still sounded unbelievably calm. “May I take your plate?” he asked.
She nodded and he slid the plate out from in front of her. He heaped it with spaghetti and covered it with pomodoro sauce.
Then he sat down next to me. He served me and finally himself.
The girl looked at him with her perfectly round, bright green eyes. She was waiting for something.
What was it?
We both hung on her every word. How could we not? What would she tell us next? What would she reveal?
“Go ahead,” Kit said. He smiled that dazzler of his. “Eat, please.”
“Eat the soup,” she said in a straight deadpan.
Kit didn’t get it, but the girl and I laughed again. She wasn’t just bright, she had good social skills. Where did she get
them? Where had she grown up? She had definitely been around adults before.
She folded her hands tightly on the table and closed her eyes. Her voice was barely louder than a whisper.
“Thank you, Lord, for this good food, this very good spaghetti. Amen,” she said.
Tears just leaped out of my eyes.
M
AX EASED BACK AND FORTH in the antique rocking chair on the porch, just like any ordinary little girl on a beautiful summer
morning.
She was wearing Koss earphones, listening to Meredith Brooks sing a little rocker called “Bitch.” She felt calm—
calmer,
anyway. She wanted to trust the two of them, but she was still afraid, paranoid, a little nutso.