Copyright 2021 © Diane Thomas-Plunk

Soft-Cover ISBN: 978-1-09836-701-5

eBook ISBN: 978-1-09836-702-2

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

Contents

Dedication

Preface

Cassie’s Chair

The Ravine

The Family Pratt

Such a Good Girl

Foster Caring

Kith and Kin

Family Circle

Abduction

Hear No Evil

The Pinch

Runaway

The Suitcase

Grace’s Story

Hospice

The Walk

The Call

The Bus Station

Greener Pastures

Mother Knows Best

Angels With Only One Wing

Camp

Revival

Decisions

Tardy

Juvie Hall

Nearly Departed

The Envelope

End of Days

Vanished

High Tide

Sisterhood

Dedication

For my mother, Martha,

and all the women who have been daughters or mothers,

those who will face the challenge of being both, or,

greater yet, those who mother the motherless

who were never their own.

And to Linda Sheriff Raiteri for her unfailing insights and impeccable guidance.

Preface

The relationship between mother and daughter is like a silken ribbon occasionally dotted with thorns. The independence of one increases as the other’s diminishes. The vibrancy, the beauty of the younger blossoms as the older fades. Top down advice becomes bottom up resistance. There is always the push-pull between them, yet the bond forever endures whether from devotion or guilt.

Cassie’s Chair

When Cassie sat down, it was for sure a serious sit. It didn’t matter if she sat on the front steps, the back yard swing, a dining room chair pulled to a window, or the corner of her classroom. She just sat.

Dad blamed Mom. Mom hovered and coaxed. First, second, and third grade teachers warned and suggested that Cassie see a doctor, maybe several kinds of doctors. Dad dismissed their concerns and continued to avoid Cassie. In his opinion, Mom should just do a better job. She could pull Cassie out of this, if she only tried. Most of the time Cassie pretended that she didn’t hear them argue. Other times she simply sat motionless for hours. No one knew why she seemed to go away when she entered her fugue state.

Mom had secretly taken Cassie to the family doctor who found nothing out of the ordinary. He thought, however, that it would be useful to refer her to a neurologist, but Mom declined. Her husband would find out, and be angry.

When Cassie wasn’t sitting, she was a regular girl with blonde, curly hair who read storybooks and played with her dolls. She chatted with Mon about the stories she read and did her little chores. She giggled. She played games. Her normalcy made Mom sad as if this was the unnatural child.

Only one person treated Cassie the same whether or not Cassie was sitting. Her best friend, Felicia, lived across the street and two doors down, so it was easy to see Cassie when she chose the front steps for her sit. Felicia would grab a coloring book and crayons, or maybe a doll, or sometimes their homework assignment, and run down to Cassie’s house.

Felicia sat next to Cassie on the porch steps. You’re right, Cassie. We have to do our homework now. I try not to do the arithmetic. I don’t like it. I’m glad you do, or I’d just make marks on the paper and turn it in. Of course, Miss Murray would send home a bad note to Mama then, and I’d be in trouble at home and school. So you save me from a spanking.

Cassie gazed off into the secret world only she inhabited. Her breathing was even and slow. Her face was expressionless.

Here’s our first problem. Fifteen take away seven. I don’t have that in my head. Here’s how I do it. Felicia opened her notebook to a clean page and made fifteen well-spaced dots. Now look at this. Watch me, Cassie. Felicia carefully put a strike mark through seven of the dots as she counted them out loud. Now we just have to count the remainder. That’s what Miss Murray calls it. The remainder. One, two, three. See. There are eight dots left. That’s the answer, Cassie. We did it. Cassie still drifted.

The girls did arithmetic problems until Mom came out to the big porch. Felicia, it’s our supper time. Cassie, you come in now.

Ma’am, Cassie’s not back yet. Felicia looked embarrassed. She took her friend’s hand.

Mom closed her eyes briefly as she drew a deep breath. Okay then. Felicia, would you like to stay to supper? I’ll call your mother, if you’d like.

Mom would move Felicia into their home, if she could. Coming to the dining room table with pink and purple sunset lights probing the bay window, Dad looked suspiciously at Felicia. As much as Cassie made him uncomfortable, Felicia caused discomfort times ten. He wondered what must be wrong with her that she saw nothing wrong with his daughter. Maybe she was a witch. He gave a polite nod to Felicia, but didn’t speak to either child. He said a perfunctory blessing for the meal.

Plates were passed and served and handed about. Felicia sat to Cassie’s right. Mom tried to make lighthearted chatter. She had been pretty and perky at one time, a real head turner, but the last few years weighed hard, and it showed. Dad never looked at her in the same way anymore. He looked like a man searching for the exit door.

S’cuse me, said Felicia. Cassie likes more potatoes than that, please.

Mom took back the plate extended to her and added more mashed sweet potatoes.

Felicia smiled. She put a fork in Cassie’s hand and helped it scoop a bite of potatoes dripping with sweet butter. She slightly lifted Cassie’s arm, watching her friend take the bite.

Dad roughly shoved away his plate and stomped out the back door. Mom looked from her husband’s departing back to her daughter’s glazed eyes, then to Felicia’s beatific smile. The women remained at the table while Felicia prompted Cassie’s intake. As they reached the end of the meal, Cassie brightened, reached for her glass and swigged down the remaining milk.

The three cleared the table. Cassie took dishes to the kitchen. Mom walked Felicia to the door.

Thank you for staying.

Sure thing. Felicia started down the porch steps before Mom stopped her. Felicia, how is she at school? How do the other children treat her?

Most everybody likes Cassie good enough. She’s fun, and she’s the prettiest, you know. Some of the bad kids make fun of her, though, when she goes away. They think she’s spooky.

"Away? She’s just unconscious. In some sort of trance. Why do you say away, and why do they say spooky? She’s just a sick little girl."

"No, ma’am. She goes someplace else. She likes it there, too. You want her to like it here better, but I don’t know if she can. I wonder what she sees when she goes there, but she doesn’t tell. Gotta go." Felicia hopped over the last step and ran across the yard, yelling behind her a thank-you for supper.

When Mom returned to the dining room, Cassie had finished stacking dishes in the kitchen. She was speeding through her arithmetic homework.

You’re very good at arithmetic, aren’t you, baby?

"A little. It all seems like I’ve had this assignment before. Isn’t that funny?

Where’s Daddy?"

I think he went for a walk. You and Felicia are very close friends, aren’t you?

Yes, ma’am. Oh. Cassie put down her pencil and dug through her notebook. You gotta sign my permission slip. Next week we’re going to St Louis cemetery. You know that’s where all the people are buried on top of the ground in little house things. That’s where the witch Marie Laveau is buried. Won’t that be cool? You could be a chaperone and go with us.

Mom shivered. I’ll take the permission slip and look it over, but I don’t know if this is a healthy field trip for young children. Mom sat down next to her beautiful child. I talked to Felicia about you being sick.

Cassie laughed.

No, it’s not funny. Don’t you know, baby, that you sometimes ... lose time?

I have to finish the problems, Mom.

Right. Go ahead. I have some ice cream when you’re done. Then, we’ll need to get you ready for bed.

Can I have a story? Will Daddy tuck me in?

I’ll read your story when you get in bed. Finish up here, and we’ll get your dessert before bath time.

Dad came in the back door while Cassie worked on the arithmetic.

She wants you to read the bedtime story, said Mom.

I can’t anymore. She ain’t natural.

Is that your considered opinion, or is it the booze you consumed at the bar? I can smell it.

Don’t smart off at me.

She’s your little girl. You need to start acting like a father!

Actually, I been thinkin’ on that. I don’t think I could’ve made what’s sittin’ in there.

There was little choice between Mom’s horror at Dad’s words and her fury at them. For the first time in their many years, she slapped him so hard that his head snapped back. Moments elapsed in mutual, hate-filled silence. Right now, this moment could never be taken back. Almost in unison, they both growled, Go to hell.

I want you out of this house first thing tomorrow. I never want to see you again. Mom turned sharply and left the room.

Later, when Cassie was snuggled in bed, she smelled like fresh lilacs and honeysuckle. Her hair wasn’t quite dry, and it clumped in dainty swirls about her head. Her cheeks flushed. Her eyes sparkled. How could this child possibly be something wrong?

What story do you want, baby?

"Snow White. She eats the bad apple and goes to sleep. Goes somewhere else. Then, the prince kisses her (giggles), and she comes back. I like that story."

Do you know why you like that story? Mom braced for an answer.

It’s just a good story. That’s all.

My baby, do you know that you sort of go to sleep sometimes when you’re really awake? That we all seem to lose you for periods of time?

Cassie turned pages in the storybook.

Please listen to me, Cassie. I don’t know what happens or what to do about it, but, if you do go some place else like Felicia thinks, I want you to know that I need you to be here. With me. Please. I love you so much.

Cassie smiled in the most all-knowing way. A way that chilled Mom even before the child spoke.

Funny. That’s just what my Mom in the other place says.

The Ravine

The rain was so heavy, and the reach of the headlights so limited that the illusion was created that the car was perfectly still, and it was the road that flew by like a movie backdrop. Clare Levy shook her head periodically to help her re-focus on the road ahead. The windshield wipers slapped at the downpour, but couldn’t poke a hole in the curtain of water. Clare leaned forward, straining to see the difference between the center line and the shoulder. They were on their way home from the lake house, driving on a worn, two-lane highway. Clare’s back cramped from the strain.

Are we all right? Can I turn on the radio? asked seven-year-old Ivy.

Shh, don’t talk now.

But, I’m tired of this. Seven had become a whiney year for Ivy.

Quiet! Not now.

The car began to shimmy, then fishtail. The tires hydroplaned, and the car headed for the shoulder where it took flight.

Clare cried out, No, no, no, no.

Ivy screamed.

It only took seconds before the car tilted to its right. It slammed onto the downside of the hill, and made a complete three-sixty rollover. Once again right side up, it slid scarily down the embankment. If Clare had been able to listen, she’d have heard the sounds of underbrush and small trees banging against and under the lurching vehicle. Twenty feet down from the highway, the car slammed against a tree large enough to stop it.

Clare thought she might have been unconscious, but there was no way to measure how long. The torrential rain still assaulted the car, and its aggressive, drenching fingers pushed through cracks in the windows, and dripped inside. The world was inky black. She felt herself pressed against the seatbelt harness in a slight forward tilt. She wanted to unfasten it, but didn’t know if they were through sliding, or if there might be a drop-off or other hazard in front of them. Ivy was silent and still. Clare twisted to reach for her, but yelled in pain. Her left leg, ankle to hip, must be badly injured.

Deep breaths, woman. Breathe through the pain. Think about labor. Yeah, that didn’t work either, she told herself.

She reached again for Ivy, but without twisting her torso. Ivy didn’t respond.

She’s unconscious. She’s not dead. Dear God, don’t let her be dead.

Clare tried to think of what to do, but passed out again instead. The next time she woke, it was to Ivy’s crying, a blessed sound – all things considered.

Baby, sweet girl, Mommy’s right here, It’s going to be all right.

My head hurts. My tummy hurts, Ivy whimpered. The belt hurts. Take it off.

Ivy, not yet. I think we should wait a while. I know it doesn’t feel right, but we’ll just wait. We had an accident, and we need to wait a bit. When it’s light we’ll know better what to do.

The rain’s on me. I want to go home, Mommy.

Me, too, baby. Me, too.

Ivy fidgeted a while, and then became quiet again. The rain had given way to a light sprinkle, and the blackness eased into a dismal ash gray. The sun would be up soon, and that would make everything better. Rescuers would be able to see them.

Clare tried to remember where her purse might have landed after the vicious ride into the ravine. She attempted to reach forward to feel the floorboard under her legs, but her hip screamed again. Breathe, breathe. Reaching to the passenger floorboard was out of the question. To do that, she’d have to move her leg and hip again. Maybe Ivy could do it when she came to. Careful to hold her torso rigid, Clare reached over the center console into the back seat. She could only feel around slightly to the left and then right. No purse. She wished she’d been one of those people who always had their cell phones attached to their bodies. There wasn’t going to be a way to locate it.

Clare turned the key in the ignition. The engine didn’t turn over, but clicking it again, she was able to turn on the headlights. Maybe the light would attract attention. In reality, however, she knew there was little traffic to attract on the road that had thrown them into the ravine. She’d turn them off when the sun came up to prevent draining the battery.

I didn’t have to leave in the middle of the night. I didn’t have to leave in a rainstorm. I still could have walked out on Ted if I’d waited until morning. And now, look what I’ve done. All because of my temper, and his infidelity.

Clare remembered that Ivy should be kept awake in case she had a concussion.

Ivy, sweetie, wake up. Talk to me.

The child groaned quietly and opened her eyes. Why don’t we get out of the car?

We’re kind of stuck. We went off the road and slid down here, but we’ll be all right.

Is Daddy coming to get us?

I don’t know, but someone will for sure. We’ll just wait for them.

There wasn’t exactly a sunrise. The light just grew brighter through the mist and fog. Now she could see that the car contorted into a crescent on Ivy’s side, with the tree as a fulcrum. About ten to fifteen more feet down the leveling hillside was a ribbon of water that probably didn’t exist in the dry season. The car wasn’t going to slide any more due to the strong tree pinning them in place. They could unfasten the seatbelts.

Blood! It’s blood! yelled Ivy.

Where?

My head. I put my hand here – where it hurts – and it’s all red. Ivy began yelling.

Easy, Ivy, easy. I want you to unlatch your seatbelt and open the glove compartment. There should be paper napkins in there. Get out some.

Ivy’s crying slowed, and she did as directed.

Good girl. Now, gently put one of them up to your head. See if you can feel where it’s cut, and wipe it off.

You do it.

I can’t. I’m so sorry, but I’m stuck over here. I can’t reach that far. You’re a big girl. Go ahead.

Ivy used three napkins to sop up blood. She threw the soaked ones onto the floorboard.

Ivy, fold up one and hold it to where it hurts. If you can press it against your head, you might stop the bleeding.

Ivy followed instructions. She only cried slightly, but sniffled loudly.

I’m thirsty, Mommy.

I didn’t put any water bottles in the car, said Clare. Let me think ... okay, put your hand where the windshield’s cracks let rain drip inside. Wipe your fingers on the rainwater, and then suck it off your hand. That’s the best I can offer right now.

That’s lame.

You’re right, but it’s all we’ve got right now. Look, I’ll do it over here.

Clare hadn’t tried to use her left arm. It was sore, but now – to lift it – was excruciating.

Using her right hand, she captured a few drops and licked her fingers. See, that worked. Her voice trembled in spite of herself. Her left arm pulsed painfully.

Ivy followed suit.

Ivy, how’s your head?

It hurts. There’s blood in my hair.

We’ll get it all washed clean when we get home.

When will we be home?

I’m not sure. We’ll need to wait a while. How’s your tummy?

It hurts, too. Everything hurts. Make it stop. Her voice was weak, more tired than panicked.

I’d give anything if I could make it stop. Maybe you could help. Do you think you could lean forward and look at the floorboard in front of you? Is my purse down there?

Clare cringed at Ivy’s hurt noises as she bent forward.

Not there, said the child, settling back into her seat.

I don’t want to hurt you, but I need to ask a really big favor – something that could help us.

It hurts. My whole body.

I know. I’m so sorry. I’d do this if I could, but I just can’t move. If it’s not awful, can you crawl onto the console and look all over the back seat and floor for my purse? I need my cell phone to call for help. Or anything else you see that could be useful.

Will you call Daddy to come get us?

Yes. Sure, I will. I’ll call for someone to help us. Do you think you can get over there to look?

It hurts too much. Ivy threw down another bloody napkin and folded yet another to hold against her head. She cried harder.

I understand. I don’t want you to hurt worse, and you’re the only one to make that decision, but this is so important, baby. It could help us get out of here.

So this is the kind of mother I’ve become. One who sends her injured child to do the hard work. If we live through this, I’ll be arrested for child abuse – and deserve it.

Ivy started trying to move, making noises that sounded more angry than pained. She positioned herself over the console.

There it is, Ivy exclaimed.

Can you get it?

Clare saw drops of blood from Ivy’s head wound dotting the console.

I think so.

Ivy stretched over and down, grabbed the purse, and cried out. She threw it onto her mother’s lap causing the impact to reverberate through Clare’s hip and thigh. She managed to hold in the scream that wanted out.

Here’s a sweater, too. Ivy tossed, and it floated toward the dashboard. Clare caught it.

Ivy fell back onto her seat and sobbed.

I’m so sorry, sweet girl, so sorry, but so proud. You did an important thing. I can make a call now to get someone here to get us out. Here. Put the sweater around you.

With her only good hand, Clare rummaged through the purse. This was certainly a reminder not to carry so much junk in there. She threw trash over her shoulder and into the back seat. The phone! There it is.

She put the phone on her lap and, in doing so, uncovered a bottle of aspirin in the bottom of the purse.

They may be out of date, but maybe not. She grappled with the lid, but got it off and retrieved a pill.

Baby, put this in your mouth and chew it up. It won’t taste good, but it might make you feel a little better.

Eww! Gross! Ivy’s face scrunched up.

Try to get some of the moisture from the window again. I’m so sorry.

Can I ever stop saying sorry?

Clare managed two more from the bottle and put them in her mouth. Her face scrunched up, too.

She fastened the purse and put it within reach. One-handed, she wiggled the cell phone out of its case.

I will forever more be sympathetic to disabled people. I didn’t know how hard it would be to have only one arm.

The phone was in her lap, and Clare was punching 911 when she saw that there was no signal.

Of course. Why would I expect this to work? Just one more nail in our coffins. Now what?

The day dragged on. Clare heard a car up on the road and banged on the horn button. There was no reply.

She stroked Ivy’s arm and soothed her when the child became agitated. They were both hungry, thirsty, and in pain. Clare encouraged wiping the remaining raindrops, but the sun was drying them up.

I’ll check my purse again, said Clare.

Digging through the refuse, she found a couple of sticks of gum and a lip moisturizer.

Hey, Ivy. Put some of this on your lips. They won’t feel so dry. And then – look. Gum! At least it will taste good.

Ivy smacked her gum for a while and relaxed enough for a nap to sneak up on her.

It was about dusk when Clare felt something bump her side of the car. She looked out the side window, but saw nothing. Another thump toward the front of the car woke Ivy, and they both saw the tawny, muscular body of an adult mountain lion. Ivy began a scream, but Clare grabbed the child’s arm.

Shhh. You must be quiet. Be very still, Clare insisted in a stage whisper.

The mountain lion moved forward, away from the car. Something else attracted his attention. Down the twist of a stream, Clare saw the young doe and her fawn. She held her breath as the lion crept forward and paused.

Ivy, close your eyes. Now.

The lion bolted forward. Mom and fawn sprinted toward the woods. The lion was faster. Clare heard the rustling in the trees and then the tiny scream, no doubt from the fawn.

Of course, Ivy had not closed her eyes. The next scream was hers.

He’ll eat us next! she yelled. He’ll come back here and get us. She was near hysteria.

Baby, baby, he won’t. We’re in a car, so he can’t get to us, and I don’t think they like people anyway. We’re safe. I promise.

No, we’re not! We have to get out of the car. We have to go up to the road.

Ivy started to stand in a crouch, but grabbed her midsection in pain and fell back.

Through her tears, she reproached her mother. It’s you! Your fault. You won’t take me home. I want Daddy.

They both cried.

"It is my fault. I shouldn’t have left when it was raining so hard. I wish I could go