It was very dark in her locked closet at the back of the camper. And cold.
When was Pappy coming back?
Not that Mya really wanted him to come, but still…
It was worrisome.
She had no idea where they were or why they were there.
Yesterday, Pappy had gotten a phone call—he didn’t get many of those—and
Mya, sitting on the floor by Pappy’s bed and chewing the end of her ponytail,
had listened carefully, trying to see if she could get a clue as to what was
going to happen next.
Mya could only hear his end of the conversation. The rest was just
garbled muttering.
Whatever it was, it didn’t sound good.
“Dead? What good would it do if I did come?” Pappy’s voice was
harsh, like it sounded when he was getting mad.
Muttering from the other end of the line.
“Can’t you send the paperwork and sell the house without me?”
More muttering.
“What’s my share?” Pappy’s voice rose. “How do I know you’re not
cheating me?”
Still more muttering.
“Oh, all right. If I have to. But only long enough for me to sign
everything. You can send me my money when it’s sold.”
He slammed the phone down. Mya cringed, afraid he would turn and
see her. He might kick her with those big heavy boots.
But he’d stomped to the back door of the camper, yanked it open,
and climbed out.
He didn’t even put Mya in the closet like he usually did.
Silky, the little dog, had crept into the tiny alcove that held
the toilet, which they never used.
When Pappy slammed the door shut and locked it, Silky slunk over
to Mya, his long white hair brushing the filthy carpeting, and climbed onto her
lap.
She clutched him close to her chest. Silky was her best friend.
Her only friend.
They heard the engine roar to life and the camper lurched forward.
Mya had no clue where they might be going. Even if she could ask
Pappy, there would be no point to it. He wouldn’t tell her, and he might get mad.
She worked hard to keep from making him mad.
Besides, what did it matter?
They travelled for a long time.
Eventually they stopped. When Pappy came back inside, he snatched
Silky from her, tossed him out of the way, and unceremoniously shoved Mya into
the closet. He latched the door.
All was quiet. Pappy was probably sleeping.
When he got up, he opened the closet door.
Then came the part Mya hated.
He sat her on his lap facing away from him and pulled the hair tie
out of her ponytail. Then he started caressing her long sleek hair. She could
feel his foul breath on the back of her neck as he buried his face in the
softness. His hands moved on either side of her head, massaging, probing,
squeezing.
Sometimes he made her hold Silky, and did pretty much the same
thing with the little dog’s fine fur, but not today.
She never cried anymore. It was too sad. Besides, it didn’t do any
good. Only annoyed people.
Mya had learned to keep both her own hair and Silky’s well-brushed
and tangle-free. If Pappy’s roving fingers found a snarl, he would get mad and
yank it out. That hurt.
Abruptly, he stood, pitching her onto the floor. He pushed her
into the closet and tossed in half a loaf of bread, a jar of peanut butter, and
a bottle of water. Not to mention a can to pee in.
He must have been planning to be gone for a while.
That was hours ago.
Now Silky was whining and scratching at the door.
When Pappy went out, he’d just leave Silky in the camper, roaming
around. The problem with that was that Silky didn’t have any place but the
floor to pee or poop.
The pee wasn’t so bad. It sank into the carpet, which already
smelled terrible, and unless Pappy stepped on a wet spot in his sock feet, he wouldn’t
realize the pee was there. But the poop…
He’d be mad. And chase poor Silky all around with his belt,
swatting at him.
Mya knew what that belt felt like. It hurt. And Silky was much
smaller than she was. It could knock him right off his feet.
After those sessions, when Pappy had finished storming around, Mya
would take Silky into her closet and close the door. They would huddle together,
both trembling, both trying to keep still until Pappy went to sleep. Which he
always did eventually.
How much longer would he be away?
Pappy thought she was securely locked in the closet, but Mya knew
how to get out. She had a dull kitchen knife hidden under the blankets she used
for a bed. All she had to do was slot the end of the knife into the screws on
the hinge at the bottom of the door. Then she could take them out and coax the
bottom of the door open enough so she could squeeze out.
Once Pappy had caught her outside the closet. But she made sure it
was only the once. He’d come in, smelling of beer, to find her asleep on the built-in
bench by the table and thrown her back into the closet. He hadn’t noticed the door
askew. Probably because he was so drunk.
Mya had quickly straightened the door and replaced the screws.
The next day, Pappy had gone out to buy a new hasp and padlock for
the door. He thought that solved the problem, but since he installed it high up
on the side of the door, way above the hinges, the only difference his repair
made was to steady the top of the door. That made it easier for Mya to slide
out.
Across the camper, Silky whined again.
Did she have enough time to let Silky out to poop? And get him
back in before Pappy came? Did she dare try it?
She felt in the darkness for her knife, then carefully unscrewed
the hinge. She tucked the knife in a corner under her blankets and slipped the screws
into her pocket. Losing them would be a disaster.
The interior of the camper was as inky dark as the closet had
been.
Maybe it was nighttime and they were parked somewhere in the woods
with no lights. Or maybe Pappy had found an old warehouse or garage and parked in
there. He said the fewer people who saw the camper the better off they were.
People were nosy and liked to get themselves into other people’s affairs.
Mya was supposed to have started first grade this year, in the
fall, but that hadn’t happened. Pappy said it was no one else’s business what
they did or where they went.
That was why Mya must never talk to anyone. And why she should
call him Pappy. That wasn’t his name, and he wasn’t her father, but that’s what
he said to call him.
The only thing he ever called her was “Girl.”
It had been so long since anyone called her Mya, she almost forgot
that was her name. Mom always called her that, especially when she was cross.
“Mya, stop it now!”
“Mya, what am I going to do with you?”
Ever since the babies had arrived, it seemed like she couldn’t do
anything right.
The babies were triplets. Joseph, Jeremy and Joshua. They cried
all the time.
Mya didn’t know why they had to have babies. Things were so much
nicer before they arrived. She and Mom and Dad and Pongo, the dog, had been perfectly
happy.
Mom spent all her time taking care of babies. She never had time
for Mya.
Mya had tried to help. She could fetch diapers or pick up things
that had dropped to the floor or rinse out bottles. But mostly she was just in
the way.
Pongo was in the way most of the time, too, and was often banished
to the backyard. When he was inside, he had enough sense to curl up in a
corner.
When Daddy came home, he spent all his time taking care of babies,
too. Sometimes Mom went straight to bed and left him to fix bottles, change
diapers and try to quiet crying babies.
It didn’t work very well. The babies cried no matter what.
He no longer read Mya a story each night.
One time, she had stood there, watching as he grabbed a clean
diaper and laid a crying Joseph on the changing table. She clutched one of her
books.
“Later, Mya. I don’t have time now.” He took off the dirty diaper.
A terrible odor drifted into the room.
Mya knew that later would never come. At least not tonight.
A tear slipped down her cheek.
Joseph let out a particularly loud wail. A stream of pee arched
into the air, right into Daddy’s face and trailed down his shirt.
Holding one hand on Joseph’s tummy, Daddy reached for the little
package of wipes.
It fell on the floor.
“Get that for me, Mya,” he said.
She picked it up and handed it to him.
He looked at her tear-streaked face and, instead of saying “Thank
you,” he snapped, “What have you got to cry about?”
She went to her room and put on her jammies. She brushed her long
hair, but she didn’t brush her teeth, feeling daring and naughty. She got a
grim satisfaction from knowing she was not doing something she should.
Climbing into bed, she called Pongo, who came dashing into her
room and jumped on the bed.
He licked her face, washing away the salty tears.
Mya opened the book. She couldn’t read, but she could show Pongo
the pictures. He snuggled close to her and looked very interested.
Every day seemed the same. Mya watched her parents holding the
babies, talking to them softly, rocking them.
Still they cried.
She would sometimes feel a little stone hardening in her chest. Why
couldn’t someone hold her like that? She wouldn’t cry then.
Why couldn’t things be like they used to be?
She was old enough to fix her own peanut butter sandwich and of
course she was much too old to wear diapers. Mom and Daddy didn’t even say much
to her anymore.
Sometimes when she felt that hard little stone in her chest, Mya
would do something she knew was naughty. Spill some milk on purpose. Pongo
would slurp that up when he had a chance. Hide a pacifier so that one of the
babies would be wailing as Mom looked for it. Stomp through puddles outside,
getting her shoes caked with mud and leave a dirty trail behind herself on the
kitchen floor.
“Mya, what am I going to do with you?”
***
Then came the dreadful day when everything changed.
Joseph and Jeremy sat in the playpen, crying. As usual. Sometimes
Mya thought she hated them.
Mom had Joshua on the changing table, struggling to get a sweater
on the squirming body.
When she finally got the chubby, flailing arms stuffed into the
sweater, Mom picked up Joshua in one arm and grabbed Joseph, still crying, out
of the playpen with the other.
Pongo got in the way.
Mom shooed him into the kitchen and shut the door.
“I need your help, Mya,” she said, heading for the back door.
“Come along.”
Reluctantly, Mya followed.
The only time Mom paid attention to her was when she wanted Mya’s
help.
And then usually Mya messed up and made Mom say, “Mya, what am I
going to do with you?”
The big baby carriage stood sideways at the head of the driveway.
They didn’t use a stroller, like everybody else. They had this huge old carriage
with solid sides and a hood. Mya had to get on her tippy-toes to see inside it.
All three babies could lie in it at once.
“We have an appointment at the well-baby clinic,” Mom explained.
“They need their next shots.”
Mya nodded, unsure what this had to do with her.
“Mind these two while I go get Jeremy,” Mom said. “And I need to find
the vaccination papers.”
Okay. Mind these two.
What exactly did Mom mean by that?
By now both the babies were screaming, waving their arms and
kicking their feet in the air.
Mom looked over her shoulder as she went back into the house. “Try
rocking the carriage a little. That might make them stop crying.”
Well, it didn’t.
Mya rocked harder.
The babies screamed louder.
She’d seen Mom push the whole carriage back and forth a bit
sometimes if rocking didn’t work.
Mya held the handle and reached one hand down to release the
brake.
The carriage had been facing sideways across the gravel driveway,
but she must have turned it a bit.
It started to roll down the driveway.
Mya grabbed the handle with both hands.
The carriage was heavy, and it pulled her forward with it.
She tripped. The handle tore out of her grip. She landed face down
in the gravel.
The carriage kept going.
The twisting road at the bottom of the driveway was not usually busy,
but Mya could see a delivery truck barreling toward them.
At that moment, Mom came out of the house, carrying Jeremy.
“My babies!” she screamed, dropping the baby she was carrying in
the grass and sprinting down the driveway.
The carriage continued on its way, picking up speed.
The delivery truck kept coming, not slowing down at all.
As she passed, Mom shot a wild look at Mya, who was lying face
down on the ground.
“What did you do, Mya? Those babies could be killed!” she hollered
as she dashed down the driveway.
Killed the babies! And it would be all Mya’s fault.
How could anyone ever forgive her?
She scrambled to her feet and ran through the back yard, down to
her special place in the narrow strip of woods by the stream.
She sat on a rock and cried, wishing Pongo would come find her. But
he was closed in the kitchen. She stayed there all afternoon until it started
to get dark.
***
That was when Pappy had shown up.
She’d seen Pappy before, although not lately.
His parents lived in the house across the stream from her
family’s. He showed up every once in a while, in a big, smelly camper, which he
tucked away in an old garage behind the house.
He’d wander around for a few days, sneaking into people’s yards
and outbuildings. When anybody tried to talk to him, he’d glare at them, mutter
a few curses, and go back to his parents’ place.
When he was around, everybody would lock up all their yard
equipment and bring in their outdoor furniture. All doors would be firmly
locked and all pets brought inside.
As suddenly as he’d shown up, he’d be gone again, and everyone in the
neighborhood would breathe a sigh of relief.
But this time he came right up to Mya and grinned.
She shrank back.
“You’re coming with me,” he said.
Mya shook her head. She was in enough trouble. Mom would be mad if
she left.
He leered. “Your mom told me to take you,” he said. “Far away. She
said she didn’t care where. As long as you’re gone.”
No. That couldn’t be true. Could it?
“They gave me money to take you away. You don’t think they want
you anymore, do you? After what you did?”
What had she done?
Killed Joseph and Joshua. All Mom had left was Jeremy, who she’d
dropped in the grass.
It was all Mya’s fault.
Mom was always asking what she could do with Mya.
Now this horrible man was letting her know.
Give Mya away. Pay somebody to take her.
Nobody could really blame Mom.
Mya deserved it.
Blinking back tears, Mya stumbled along as Pappy pushed her toward
the old garage where he parked the camper. He opened the back door and lifted
her in, shutting the door behind her.
A timid little dog, its white fur all matted, cowered in a corner.
Then the camper had lumbered out of the garage, tires crunching on
the gravel drive, and kept going.
Since then, she’d hardly been out of the camper for more than a
few minutes at a time.
Pappy warned her that, if she tried to talk to anyone, he’d take
her somewhere away from people and just leave her. At night. With nothing.
Maybe he’d leave Silky, too. Nobody wanted him, either.
The money had run out, so why should he keep her?
Then what would she do? They’d starve to death. Or freeze, if it
was cold enough.
***
Silky scratched at the door and whined.
Mya crept over to it. She stumbled over Silky’s bowls, but
fortunately there was no food or water in either one to spill.
He must be hungry and thirsty. She’d share her water with him when
they got back, and give him a slice of bread with peanut butter.
When she pulled the door open, the little dog dashed out and
squatted.
Outside of the camper, it was a little brighter. They were in some
kind of a building. Not a big warehouse, more like a garage or an oversize
shed. Dim light showed through two grime-covered windows. Cracks and holes in
the walls and roof let a bit more light in.
Silky sniffed around.
She should get the dog back in right away, Mya thought. Who knew
when Pappy would come back?
The building smelled of dampness and rotting wood, but it was a
lot better than the stinky interior of the camper. Mya shivered. But it really
wasn’t much colder than inside the camper.
Silky stuck his nose in a particularly large hole where a piece of
the siding had broken away. As Mya watched, he squeezed through the opening and
was gone.
Oh, no!
Mya dashed over to the hole, fell to her knees, and peered out.
“Silky!” she whispered as loud as she dared. “Come here, Silky!”
But Silky was gone.
What was Pappy going to do if he came and Silky was missing?
Maybe she could go back into the camper and crawl back into her
closet.
If she left the door open, maybe Pappy would think he’d been
careless and not closed it.
But what would happen to Silky?
He was a nice dog, and, thanks to Mya, he was well-groomed, even
if he did need a bath.
They both did.
If somebody found him, they might decide to keep him. Then Mya
would miss him, but the dog would be much better off.
Or he might get hit by a car. Or starve to death. Or get eaten by
a coyote.
Mya shivered. She had to get Silky back.
When she pushed on the heavy doors behind the camper, they only
moved a few inches before something stopped them.
Not nearly enough room for her to slip out.
There had to be another way out. A rectangle along one side was
outlined by the faint light. A side door big enough for a person?
Mya went to it and tried the knob. It didn’t turn.
She pushed on the door and it gave a few inches. She put her
shoulder against it and shoved.
The door fell outward, landing with a thud on the ground.
Now she’d done it. Pappy would be furious.
The only thing she could think of was that if she could prop it
back up in place, maybe Pappy wouldn’t notice.
But she would have to worry about that later. First she needed to
get Silky back.
A layer of snow covered the ground. It wasn’t very deep, but a
fresh wintery scent filled the air.
Even if the stiff breeze was cold, it smelled so good after the
stink inside the camper.
But snow on the ground was not good. Even if she caught Silky
back, climbed back in, and wiggled her way into her closet, footsteps and
pawprints in the snow would tell anyone who looked that they’d been outside.
Would Pappy look?
Maybe they’d be lucky and it would still be dark when he got back
and he wouldn’t notice.
She crept along the side of the building, hugging the wall.
Strange flashes of light cut through the darkness. When she got to the corner
of the building, Mya stopped. She blinked rapidly, trying to get her eyes to focus.
Outdoor lights blinked in the distance, visible through the bare
branches of the woods in front of her. Wherever they were, somebody had decked
out a house nearby with multi-colored Christmas lights.
Was it Christmas time?
With a pang, Mya remembered Christmas before the babies came.
Daddy would put up lights like that, and they’d have a tree in the living room,
covered with more lights. Santa would bring her a few toys, and they’d have a
big dinner with a turkey.
Last year, though, when Mom and the babies had just come home from
the hospital, Daddy hadn’t gotten the outdoor lights up at all. And although
he’d gotten the Christmas tree out of its box in the attic, and carried down bins
of decorations, somehow no one had ever gotten around to putting anything on
the tree. All Santa brought her was a stiff teddy bear holding a little
container of dusting powder. And a candy cane.
She shared the candy cane with Pongo.
Mya wondered if Pappy could be visiting the people in the house.
If so, she hoped they were giving him plenty of beer. Then he might stay awhile.
And be too drunk to notice the disturbed snow.
As her eyes adjusted to the dimness alternating with the stabs of
light, she saw a white shadow a few yards away, moving slowly on the edge of the
woods.
“Silky!” She tried calling to him in a loud whisper, but he didn’t
hear her. Or decided to ignore her.
She couldn’t really blame him. It wasn’t often he got the chance
to sniff around outside.
As Mya crept up behind him, the little dog looked at her over his
shoulder. He wagged his tail, but then he trotted deeper into the narrow band
of trees.
Mya followed him, trying to avoid stepping on any sticks that
might snap and call attention to them.
A softer breeze rattled the branches surrounding her. The woodsy
smell of decaying leaves mingled with the fresh snow scent. Soon she heard the burbling
sound of running water.
Silky had stopped by a stream and was lapping up water.
Of course he was thirsty. Pappy hadn’t left any water in his bowl.
He didn’t scoot away when Mya came up next to him and put her hand
on his collar.
She looked down at the shallow water, flowing along a gravel bed,
over rocks and around a withered stump. A series of flat stones created a
crossing.
It reminded her of the stream near her parents’ house, where she
used to go play. Where Pappy had come to get her.
A lump formed in her chest and tears formed in her eyes.
Angrily, she brushed them away. Crying did no good. All that was
past. Her life consisted of trying to keep Pappy from getting mad at her or
Silky.
She looked across the stream. The house was visible through the
woods. She could see rectangles of light where the light from the windows shone
on the ground. There were no curtains drawn. Why would anyone bother, when the
windows looked out onto the yard and the woods by the stream beyond?
Mom had never bothered to cover the windows in her old house.
Silky finished his drink and let Mya pick him up. She looked down
at the stepping stones crossing the stream.
Funny. They looked really familiar, like she already knew
how to use them to cross over.
Her breath caught in her throat.
They were familiar. This was her old play-and-hiding
place.
The house she saw up ahead was where she had lived before they
sent her away.
She looked over her shoulder and realized that the camper was
parked in the back garage of the neighbor’s old house. The place where Pappy
came to visit sometimes.
Beyond that would be his parents’ house.
Maybe that was where Pappy was.
Mya should take Silky back to the camper. If Pappy caught them
outside like this, who knew what he might do?
But she wanted to peek in a window to see if Mom and Dad were
there. And Jeremy, the baby who hadn’t been in the carriage when it was crushed
by the truck. The baby Mom had dropped on the grass when she went running after
the carriage.
Mya wondered if they would decorate the Christmas tree for that
last baby. They’d put up the outdoor lights.
After all, no matter how sad everybody was, they might try to make
Christmas nice for him.
Daddy had put up the outdoor lights.
Clutching Silky and shivering, not entirely from the cold, she cut
across the lawn and snuck up to the side of the house.
She was too short to see in the window.
Looking around, she found a big empty flowerpot and kicked it over
toward the window.
When she got it there, she upended it and carefully stepped up on
it, bracing herself on the wall with the hand that wasn’t holding Silky.
She could see inside.
They did have a Christmas tree. The same one they’d always had. Mom
was sitting in her chair, knitting.
Mya saw a bit of movement as a baby, holding a stuffed bear,
toddled into sight.
It had to be Jeremy.
At least Mom had one baby left.
Mya’s breath caught in her throat.
Then another baby toddled into sight, reaching for the toy Jeremy
held.
And a third one followed.
She gulped in cold night air.
Three babies. Yes. Three.
Joseph and Joshua hadn’t died after all. She hadn’t killed them.
Maybe the truck had managed to stop before it hit the carriage. Or
maybe it had hit them and they’d been hurt badly. Maybe everybody thought they
were going to die, but the doctors had managed to save them.
Whatever, it didn’t change the fact that Mya had almost killed
them. No one would want a girl like that anymore, would they?
But at least she could stop feeling bad that she’d killed the
babies.
She supposed she should get back to the camper with Silky. Even if
she ever got the chance, she wouldn’t let Mom know that she’d been there and
looked through the window. It would all be too sad.
As Mya teetered on the inverted flowerpot, hungry to see
everything, something rushed around the side of the house and knocked into her.
She tumbled to the ground, holding tight to Silky.
It was Pongo, her old dog.
Pongo barked and squirmed over her, licking her face.
Silky cowered in her arms.
She didn’t see Daddy until he was standing over her, his eyes wide
with shock.
“Mya?” he asked.
What was going to happen to her now? Was he going to take her back
to Pappy, who would be really mad?
Maybe he’d give Pappy some more money. That might make things
better for a while.
“Mya.” He scooped her up off the ground, Silky and all, and pulled
her tight against him.
She held herself stiff and bit her lip to keep from saying
anything.
“Mya. Where have you been? We’ve missed you so much. Your mom will
be so happy to see you.”
He carried her into the warm house, which smelled of baking bread.
Mom sprang out of her chair. “Where did you come from, Mya?” she
asked, tears in her eyes.
“Who cares where she came from?” Daddy said, hugging her closer.
“The important thing is we have her back.”
“I care. The police will care,” Mom said.
“You can call them. I’m going to read The Night Before Christmas to my girl.”
Mya buried her face in Daddy’s shoulder. She knew she was
blubbering, but she couldn’t stop herself. Huge sobs shook her chest.
Silky whimpered.
Pongo whined.
Mom was crying.
The babies were wailing.
Mya could feel Daddy’s chest heave. She could hear tears in his
husky voice as he said, “You’re home now, Mya.”
Maybe sometimes crying did do some good.
