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.
