Rescued

And with the alphabet came words, and again, teaching Annie to read was like teaching anyone else. We labeled things around the house - "bed," "stove," "toothbrush," "soup," "pot," "room," the various articles of our clothing - then wrote the words. Then reading from books, word by word, pointing and sounding out each word as we read and I said them.

And we wrote notes to each other, notes about everything, from things we needed or things she wanted, to things to do, to how she'd like a book about something, or if she wasn't feeling well and needed to tell me what was wrong.

But the very first note I ever got from Annie was, in her typical pragmatic fashion,

"LUCAS - GO TO STORE - GET WEELS"

All these years later, I still have that note. Annie would probably be embarrassed if she knew.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I was still concerned about Annie medically - about her health, and her development - and about whatever there might be in her physical history.

Old Doc Marsh has taken care of the people of this county for decades. That includes me, like the time I broke my arm jumping off a boulder, or if I had an earache or needed a vaccination before returning to school. He's mostly retired now, but about two years ago he took on a young doctor who'd already been in general practice for a few years but who'd grown up in an area like this and wanted to practice in a place where he could hunt and fish and snowmobile.

Doc Marsh still saw a few patients when "the young fella" couldn't make it or simply needed a break (often to hunt or fish). So when Annie first came to stay with me (that sounds a whole lot gentler than saying "when I first took Annie"), I knew that I had to have him examine her. Also, a doctor who practices in a small community knows a lot about his patients' personal lives, and about the importance of protecting peoples' privacy and, sometimes, their secrets, and I knew that I could trust Doc's "discretion" when it came to Annie's and my "unusual" situation.

I took her in to see how she was physically, and also to find out what to do about a child whose vaccination status was completely unknown. It took Doc only a few minutes with Annie before he knew "what kind of a child she was," or in other words, what kind of "family" life she'd had. He looked at me, and I nodded. This was a child who was going to need a special kind of care.

Doc held out an examination gown to her and asked if she would put it on. She looked at me like she wasn't sure what the man was asking her to do and wasn't sure if she should do it. I explained how this man was a doctor, and that he knew about taking care of people and that he had taken care of me when I was her age, and that in order for him to be able to do that right he needed her to wear a special kind of robe so that he'd be able to see her "completely."

Apparently my explanation worked, because she took the small gown that he was offering her and he stepped out of the room while I helped Annie put on the strange dress that didn't seem to have any back to it. I tied the neck ties and in a loud voice said that we were ready.

Doc performed what you'd describe as a "routine" examination, but I could also see that he was carefully feeling her bones for any breaks that might have healed and looking at her skin for any signs of prior abuse - of any kind, if you understand what I'm saying.

When he finished, we left Annie in the examination room to get dressed (I had already untied the neck ties) and Doc and I stepped into his office.

"She's a ... an unusual girl, Lucas. Overall, she's in good health - surprisingly good health, actually, a mite small for her age but ... by the way, how old is she?" I had to admit that I had no idea but guessed that she was five or six. That sounded about right to Doc.

"But I think I understand what you really want to know, Lucas. You want to know if the child has been abused. And the good news I have to tell you - well, relatively good news, anyway - is that the only abuse that I can see she's had is simple, plain-old neglect. That's good news, I reckon. If I had to guess, I'd guess that in her brief little life, she just been "there," that she was someone - or some thing - that had to be fed and clothed, but not much more.

"I hope that makes you feel better, Lucas." It did.

"As for the vaccination thing, if I had to bet, I'd bet that whoever was caring for her wasn't the kind of person or people who were real attentive about details like that, so if it's okay with you, I'd just like to assume that she hasn't had any, or at least hasn't gotten the full course of anything, so we should probably make sure she gets the whole schedule. We could start today with Hepatitis B and DTaP. There's no harm if she's already had any of them, so better to be safe. I'll give you a schedule and you can get in touch with me or Jeremy when she's due for the next ones."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I knew that I could trust Doc Marsh knowing about Annie and me. Now, what to do about other people? I couldn't keep Annie locked up here in the cabin. One, I couldn't go somewhere and leave her alone. Two, I didn't want to. If I was going to be the responsible adult in her life I needed to include her in my "normal" life which. come to think of it, would need to become her life, too.

People who live in this part of the state are the kind who say what they mean and mean what they say, but they don't say much. Folks mostly have a "live and let live" attitude toward others and pretty much keep to themselves - some of them by nature, others by upbringing. Still, there's the matter of explaining how all of a sudden I happen to have this young girl living with me.

The place we'd be encountering people most often would be the gas station-convenience store out on the state blacktop, Cooper's General Store. I usually go there for milk and bread and coffee and other grocery essentials, plus they also have a small selection of tools and basic household necessities as well as supplies for sportsmen and snowmobilers, plus the only laundromat for miles around. And gas and kerosene, of course. It's also where people, including myself, go to drop off mail and pick up their packages, like anything they've ordered online or by mail-order.

I began by explaining to people that Annie is "my niece's daughter," and that "my niece" was going through a rough patch and asked me to take care of Annie until she got things together. I thought that describing her as "my niece's daughter" was sufficiently vague and wouldn't invite further inquiry - potentially a problem, since some of these people who've known me since childhood might remember that I'm an only child, with no brother or sister to endow me with a putative niece.

But, of course, when months turn into a year, and then longer, and she's still with me, people will wonder if my "niece" was ever going to return for her daughter. Then I'll have to come up with some other explanation to account for her continued presence with me.

Something else that needed an explanation was the matter of her silence. People of course wondered if she was "all right," and I quickly reassured them that she was "smart as a whip," and I'd quip that "the fact she doesn't talk just goes to show how smart she is!"

Anyhow, the people we'd encounter at Cooper's generally came to accept her presence with me and most had a kind word of greeting whenever they saw her, and "old" Mr. Cooper, who's about the same age my dad would be if he were still alive, usually had something for her, maybe a piece of candy or a sucker, or sometimes it might be a cookie or a small bag of chips - always with my permission, of course.

So people got used to seeing Annie and me together, and quiet as she was, she became a regular at Cooper's store.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

And so Annie and I developed our routine together. We were pretty much a partners in everything. I told you how we started by cleaning up after eating and washing and drying the dishes together, then moving on to fixing meals together. It started simply with making toast or an English muffin, then the instant oatmeal, then macaroni and cheese. At first she simply assisted me, but then I would have her fill the pot with the water and I'd put it on the stove for her. I taught Annie how to set the timer and turn on the gas and adjust the flame - and make sure that it was out when we finished.

And together we fried eggs in the morning and grilled cheese sandwiches for lunch and hamburgers on the grill outside.

And we cleaned the house, and I taught her how to use tools - to screw in a screw, hammer in nails, saw a piece of wood, and when she got bigger and stronger, how to use a hatchet to chop wood for the grill and the fireplace - and we did the laundry together in the laundromat at Cooper's store.

And with a little girl living with me I learned to pay more attention to my grooming, shaving every day or two instead of every three or four days, maybe not wearing that same shirt "just one more day" - things like that. And while I didn't completely discard my trusty Corn Huskers Lotion, one time in town I bought a big jar of some kind of hand cream - Nivea, I think it was called - that Annie and I could both use.

And we read. And while Annie practiced picking out her letters and words and numbers on the computer, I started writing again. And it might have been my imagination, or maybe it was just that I felt better about myself and my life, but my writing seemed to be better in some way. I was even starting to think about submitting some of my stories again.

And sometimes I'd look at Annie, sitting across the table from me, or perhaps across the room, and I'd wonder - is she thinking about us - about our situation, about how she got here, and about her life before - before that morning in the supermarket ...?

And before I knew it, a year had flown by.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I'd had to guess at Annie's age, of course. And my guess was that she was now close to the age when children start school. So one Tuesday morning in August I took Annie to the consolidated school in Warrenton to get her registered (promising to come up with her birth certificate - "I shouldn't bad-mouth my niece, but she's pretty much - if you'll pardon my expression - an airhead."). Then I thought of another detail that might help if the birth certificate continued to be an issue: "Also, my niece's had to move a bunch of times the last three years and I think she's lost track of a lot of stuff, like papers and such."

Then I did what I had intended to do all along - request that I be allowed to homeschool Annie. In fact, homeschooling is quite common in this area. One reason, of course, is that some families live quite a distance from the few schools that do exist in this neck of the woods. The other reason is that many parents in this region are, how can I put this, "independently-minded," and don't fully trust the school authorities to educate their children in the "proper" way.

I argued that because our home was so remote, getting Annie to school every day would be difficult, especially since budgetary problems had forced the small district to reduce busing, even cut it completely in some areas. But in the back of my mind, I was thinking that this was a small rural school district and they didn't have any provisions for students who were non-speaking. So while they tried to make a big deal about my request to homeschool Annie, I think they were secretly relieved that they wouldn't be compelled to make any adjustments or provide special services for a little girl who is non-verbal.

So twice each year we'd drive to the school and pick up the curriculum for that term, and over the ensuing months Annie and I would faithfully execute that curriculum.

And together we conscientiously worked our way through those curricula, term after term, school year after school year. And once she "got" the idea of school and of structured learning, Annie, to no surprise, proved to be a very quick learner - so quick, in fact, that daily lessons intended to occupy 4 or 4-1/2 hours each "school" day were usually finished in half that time. It goes without saying, I attributed this to the fact that I'm such an excellent teacher.

But this was only one part of Annie's education. Completing her "school" lessons was just the start for Annie, and with the power of her fingertips on the little black buttons on the computer keyboard, she found that she could discover the answers to a world of questions: "pompeii," "how does electricity work?" "the solar system," "bake a cake," "what does souffle mean?" And, of course, "where do babies come from?"

And what about me? What was I doing all this time? I never even gave a thought to "my" life. My life was raising and protecting a young girl. And if you're asking, "Do you really mean to sacrifice your entire life to take care of this ... orphan?" my answer would be that I'm sacrificing nothing - that nurturing this girl, raising her and teaching her - is more satisfying, more rewarding, than anything I could ever have imagined. I can't even picture what my life would be if Annie weren't in it.

So while Annie probed the universe for answers to her thousands of questions, I wrote.

We'd spend much of our days doing "work:" cleaning the cabin, cooking meals, working around the lot - clearing brush and stuff - tending our garden, fixing things, gathering and chopping firewood. We'd go in to Cooper's once a week for basic provisions and to pick up any packages and do laundry, and into Pres-lee now and then. (We don't go into Marshall very often, despite the fact that it's closer - I was concerned about bad memories of "that day" for Annie. That, plus the distinct possibility that she or I might be recognized, and people might remember that incident, that time in the supermarket... So, no, we don't go into Marshall often.)

But during the evenings, while Annie was either doing school work or searching for information about ... about everything, I started writing again. Only now, the stories, and the words to tell them, seemed to come easily, more naturally, I don't know why.

And they were better. The first story I wrote after ... after Annie ... was accepted (with the usual revisions) on the second submission. The next two things I wrote were rejected outright a bunch of times, but then my fourth story was accepted on the very first submission, along with the totally unexpected, "Do you have anything else?"

And every evening after supper and before bed we read. First it was Winnie the Pooh, and then Peter Pan, followed by Alice in Wonderland. Then A Child's Book of Heroes, then Nancy Drew (better than the Hardy Boys, I always thought), a book of mythology, Little Women, The Autobiography of Benjamin Franklin, and that got us into more biographies.

I decided to try some plays. These did not go as well, probably because I'm not a very good dramatic reader. Curiously, though, Annie did seem to enjoy Samuel Beckett's Waiting for Godot and had us read it several times. I think for some reason she sensed the absurdity of it, and that appealed to her.

Deciding that we could use a change of pace I got out an old atlas, and I explained to Annie the concept of maps as representations of the earth. I found an old road map that the state Tourism Board distributed many years ago and I showed her where we are, and the roads and towns that we're familiar with, and then the states around us. And for her "birthday" - it wasn't her birthday, of course, it was the anniversary date of our first day together - I ordered a lovely world globe that was glass and had a light inside. And I explained how this was a "model" of the earth, and of all the continents and countries and seas and lakes and oceans that are on it.

And then, because of Annie's insatiable curiosity about nearly everything, I found a splendid book aptly titled, "A Short History of Nearly Everything." Annie loved this book so much that she wanted to read other things by the writer, and this led us to the many books about his travels, and his observations about the people he met on his travels.

So if you're worrying about my life - don't. My life was - is - incredibly rich and full of wonderful adventures, and it's unimaginably satisfying.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

One time when we were in the dollar store Annie came across a package of stick-on letters. She seemed fascinated by them and indicated that she wanted me to buy them.

Later, at home, I saw that she was working on something on the old laptop computer I had given her for her own use. She appeared to be finished with what she was doing. There was this look of satisfaction on her face when she flipped up the top and I could see the letters: "ANNIE'S COMPUTER."

She'd even snipped off a sliver of the "I" to make the apostrophe.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Annie slept in "her room" almost every night. Every now and then she would come and slide into my bed, I think when she probably had fits of loneliness. Or perhaps she had dreams, memories of her life before ... before. Sometimes she'd snuggle up against me, the way she did the first few years after she came. Most times, though, she'd just lay there, not up against me, but not avoiding me, either. I think she just drew comfort from my presence, my being near her.

Until one night.

A little background. It had been thirteen years since Annie grasped my hand that day in the supermarket in Marshall, and my best guess was that she'd been five or six then (this was Doc Marsh's guess, too, based on her development at the time I first took her to see him). Anyhow, like I said, Annie slept in her own bed, in her room.

Until that November night. I'd just gotten into bed and pulled the covers up and made myself comfortable when I heard a sound, and then the sense of the covers being drawn back - and then of Annie, slipping into bed with me.

My main reaction was of confusion: Was Annie lonely, or having a nightmare? Or was she confused and had come to the wrong bedroom? Or was I in the wrong bedroom??

And then I felt it - a hand, between my legs, gently grasping a part of me that no one else has touched in so many, many years. And to my surprise, I felt myself starting to thicken there, and this just added to the confusion I was experiencing.

I've never, ever done anything with Annie that could be thought of as sexual, in any way. I never looked at her, in reality or in fantasy, in a way that could be described as sexual. No. A lithe, willing Annie had never crept into any wayward dream of mine.

And it's not that I'm such an exemplar of virtue and saintly restraint. It's just that there wasn't anything there to make me experience feelings like that.

First, of course, there is - there was - Cindy. For me, sex meant Cindy, and thoughts of Cindy meant sadness, and that wasn't an emotion calculated to engender sexual feelings. As a consequence, I pretty much "took care of myself." Like I did before Annie came. I'd been alone for years, with no desire to do anything about that, and I just continued the practice after she came - more discreetly, of course, but still, that was the totality of my sex life and the full extent of my sexual desires.

Second, from those very first hours, I felt an almost overpowering sense of responsibility toward Annie, of parental feelings and protectiveness that totally precluded any possibility of sexual thoughts.

And finally, well, this might sound terrible, but there's not much that's "sexy" about Annie. She's perhaps five foot four, but she's so slight that she looks four or five years younger than her age.