The Missing Girl
It was already dark in the forest, but Jessa and Cassie knew the way to the hollow oak,
Jessa’s secret tree, where she had a hideout. The tree had been her mother’s secret tree, too, and
of course her grandparents had known about it, but it had only gotten better since her mother had
played there. The entrance into the hollow tree bore the mark of a lightning strike. The gap
opened as a split between two massive roots, revealing the hollow core. Leaves had blown in
and cobwebs caught at her face as she crawled inside, but she brushed them away and collapsed
on the crisp, fragrant leaves. Cassie curled beside her, pressing her body in mute consolation for
the great hurt, and Jessa sobbed until she fell asleep
As she turned to leave, Jessa noticed Grandad’s jacket hanging on the back door. She lifted
it off the hook and buried her face in it, absorbing scents that evoked memories of riding on his
shoulders and being boosted into an apple tree. As she stood there, hugging the jacket,
Grandma’s warm presence seemed to flow down the hall towards her. For a moment, everything
was whole again, and Jessa was wrapped in love. Then the magic was broken, the house cold
and empty, and Jessa in a panic to get out. She shoved the jacket through the open window and
slid through herself onto the porch, dragging the paper bag across the counter after her. She
surveyed the kitchen. Nothing seemed out of place, so she pulled the window nearly closed and
pushed the screen in firmly.
Gradually, Jessa was formulating a plan. She thought: I have lots of skills. If I live here and
take care of Cassie, it’ll prove I don’t need foster parents. After a while, I’ll go back to town and
show them I can cook, keep house, and go to school. I’ll carry on Daddy’s work with the school
board and tell them how much we’ve learned from Mr. Alton’s music program. I’ll convince
them to keep music in the white schools and add it to the colored school. I know I can do it!
“Rick, when you came to our house yesterday, asking about the girl, we both said we hadn’t
seen her. That was true, but at breakfast, reading the paper, I recalled something. You see, I
went home for lunch with Laurene yesterday, as I always do, and I drive right by the Olsen
place. There was this old black pickup ahead of me. It stopped and Mr. and Mrs. Olsen got out.
They turned around, like to thank the driver, then rushed to their garage. Laurene and I figure
that must have been before they set out to get the old man. But the point is, as I was driving by
the truck, I noticed the truck driver was a colored man and I thought that was kinda unusual. It
wasn’t until I read the Landsdowne paper that I realized there was suspicion of foul play, and
thought maybe I should report it.”
“Time to wash up,” she announced. Cassie dashed over, muddy and wet, and they went
down the bank together.
Along this stretch, the water spread out in a wide bend, creating a gravel beach that
extended far into shallow water. Cassie walked out and lapped, but Jessa waded out without
reaching water deep enough to scoop up a drink, so she ventured further. As she scooped up the
cold water her shoes sank deep in the sand. Chilled inside by the cold drink, miserable and
exhausted, she stood there, shaking, realizing there was no one to tell her to get out of those wet
shoes or run her a hot bath. She could hear Mommie’s gentle voice urging her to come in,
Grandad’s concerned admonitions, and Grandma clucking over how she was sure to catch her
death of cold. Nobody was left – Nobody cared… At home, her mother would have stripped off
her shoes and steam would already be rising from the bathtub. At her grandparent’s house, the
bathroom heater would have been turned on and warm water would be running in a tense stream
into the high claw-foot bathtub. Jessa’s teeth chattered. She was alone, frightened, and nobody
cared.
Cassie approached, seeking her hand with her cold nose.
