Wednesday, April 9, 2014

A Story About the Woods



The girls had been lost in the woods for two hours and we were beginning to worry. My husband stirred up some hot chocolate on the stove in the hopes that the smell might draw them home. The sun crested a nearby bank of trees and the backyard lit with an angelic glow. They had never been gone so long. I hoisted on my mud-stompers and donned my wool field jacket and matching cap. I pocketed my father’s compass and a folding knife the girls had got me for my birthday. My husband entered the hall as I opened the door. I opened my mouth to reject his protests, but he had no plans to stop me. “Here,” he said, “in case you get hungry.” He handed me a carefully packaged sandwich and a pouch of granola. “Or they get hungry.” I kissed him on the cheek and headed out. The look on his face made my heart ache, so I tucked that image away and stepped into the endless woods.

When I say that the girls were lost, I mean they were lost to us. Certainly they had each other, but I could not say if they felt like they were missing. Or if they would miss us at all. At this point I couldn’t be sure of anything and there was a possibility that they were intentionally gone. The girls had been spending most of their free time outside this time of year, which seemed only normal after being locked away in our cabin during the snowy season. Usually they didn’t stray out of earshot. Certainly they didn’t miss the dinner bell. The would surely endure my husband wiping clean their dirt colored cheeks for a plateful of stew. They ate like wolves. We forgave our children their ill manors in this one instance because their wild abandon radiated our small home with such joy that we would all give over to laughter.

Before bedtime they had been asking questions I felt I should not answer. Even more disconcerting, their teacher had remarked how our girls had become particularly clannish, keeping to themselves at recess and during snacks. The truth is, hearing this made me proud. We encouraged our children to bond deeply, to see people as they are and to be part of the world. Everything they wished to know would be revealed to them in time. So when their father and I failed to answer their questions, they stopped asking. Instead they took up their indoor time by telling us the adventures they had during the day. They practiced elaborate games of imagination. The girls spun tales of hunting made-up beasts and traipsing across unknown terrains. I worried that these stories they told themselves lived to close to the act of lying, but my husband insisted that the girls were merely acting out the skills I had taught them and I could not argue with that. Secretly I worried that the girls had too much of my people in them.

In the dying light I could see the detritus of their pretend time. Make-shift weapons and the remains of forts were nestled into the crooks of trees, and I wondered if their preparedness was more thorough than I would have initially imagined. I maintained a steady but observant pace. If they were hiding anywhere nearby they could surely make it back to the cabin after they finished their fun of scaring their parents, and their father would have warm blankets to go along with any admonishment. No, I tasked myself with going into the deeper woods, where the roots of trees tangled together and it became difficult to both traverse and navigate.


I tried to picture the story of how my girls might have left. Even I, their mother, had started to think of them solely as a group, but in truth there were five individuals and knowing their weaknesses was essential. They would certainly know how to protect the group. Emily, the smallest, was quick and alert. The biggest was Hannah who, while commanding in presence, often cast sly glances to Jane. Most likely it would have been clever Jane who suggested this journey. Margret and Victoria held the middle, but while Margaret maintained the heart of the group, Victoria was the hardest to read. Her flighty nature masked thoughts that were not available to her parents. For the moment I focused on Jane, trying to see her path unfold before me.