If You Find Me by Emily Murdoch Read Free Book Online

one of washing indoors, bubbles everywhere, and Mama’s face, smiling and relaxed, loking like a whole different Mama.
Jenessa is seal slippery against me, splashing like a baby, and afterward, I wrap her in a fluffy peach towel that brushes the ground. I haven’t seen her smile so much in a long time. Having gotten over the events of last night, now it’s like a game to her, a wonderful adventure full of tastes and sights and sounds she never dreamed existed, let alone imagined could be hers for the claiming.
I take the underclothes Mrs. Haskell hands in through the cracked door, crisp and new in crackly packages—I reckon it’s no wonder the man took so long getting back with breakfast. With my own towel wrapped around me and tucked in above my chest, I help Ness step into the underwear, bright white and smelling like store-bought, a smell that crinkles her nose in curiosity.
“Arms up.” I slip the new undershirt over her head. She fingers the tiny pink flower at the neckline. “You’re as clean as the whistle of the Tennessee warbler,” I tell her before sending her out to Mrs. Haskell.
Wiping the steam from the mirror, I stare at myself, relieved I don’t look as much like the toothbrushing stranger from an hour ago. I still have the same long dirty blond hair, poker straight. A nose that matches Nessa’s, mostly. But it’s the eyes that hold me captive, empty of concentric creek ripples and breezy tree branches playing the sky like my bow plays my violin.
Who am I now? Who was I before? Am I the same girl?
Licking a tear from the corner of my mouth, and like so many times in the past, I pray to the one who knows: Saint Joseph.
Years ago, I dubbed Saint Joseph the patron saint of Beans. It came from a story in one of the rummage sale books Mama brought back from town. Saint Joseph once saved the whole of Sicily, Italy, by bringing forth a plentiful harvest of fava beans.
Nessa insists she loves fava beans, even though she’s never had any. Maybe that’s why. We ate most kinds of beans in the woods. We’d have starved to death without them.
Saint Joseph, if you’re still listening, please look out for us? We’re not in the woods anymore, and I’m not sure that’s a good thing. Please keep us safe, and help me keep Nessa safe. Help me remember the es in “don’t”, not to drop my g’s, and not to say ain’t.
Most of all, please look out for Mama? No matter what she did.
On beans I pray.

4
“All rise.”
    I help Jenessa to her feet as the judge swooshes out of the courtroom through a private door Mrs. Haskell said leads to his chambers, which is like his personal office– slash–dressing room. I don’t know what the slash means. All I can come up with is the slash I make when I gut a squirrel.
“Well, that’s that,” Mrs. Haskell says, smiling.
    The whole thing unfolded in a mixture of mumbo jumbo, cleared throats, and shuffling papers, with a few important facts set in stone:
    1. It’s true. When Mama took me away like she did, she broke the law.
2. The man had been the one with legal custody, like Mrs. Haskell said. I hadn’t fully believed it until I heard the judge say it all official like.
3. We belong to the man now.
4. Mrs. Haskell would send the court a monthly report, and there’d be weekly check-ins with her to monitor our progress.
5. We wouldn’t be going to foster homes . . . or back to the woods.
And that was that.
Out in the hallway, Mrs. Haskell turns to me with misty eyes. I can feel it sure as fava beans that she really does care about us. “Can I give you a hug, Carey?”
I shrug, awkward as a long-legged fawn as I let her enfold me in her arms.
“You girls are going to be just fine,” she whispers, giving me an extra squeeze.
Standing back, she rifles through her purse and pulls out a square of stiff creamy paper.
“This is my card, with my office address and phone. If you have any problems or questions or need anything, don’t hesitate to call me.”
I watch her