The Girl in the Trees

  Miranda already knew of Calvin's low opinion of her father, his son, but the language he used in the emails still shocked her. She knew Calvin to be a good, honest man, and had never known Dean, but now she felt that her father must have been awful, far worse than she'd ever imagined. She'd thought, well, maybe they just hadn't gotten along, rubbed each other the wrong way, that sort of thing. Here there were descriptions of arguments, fights, violent episodes in which Dean pulled a knife on his father, tried to grab at his gun, threatened to burn the house down, demanded money or else he'd be sorry someday. Very sorry indeed, someday soon. For her part, Loretta was described very rarely and when she was it was only to mention two things - that she was trying to stay off the drugs till her baby was born, and that right after then she'd go back. Then there it was, plain as day. Dean had told Calvin that if he wanted his granddaughter alive, he was going to have to pay up.

  Miranda tried to put the pieces together. She went back over the emails again and again, pulling out bits that referenced her birth. Calvin had told parts of the story to Earl, parts to Cookie, more parts to Jarvis and Beech, but never the whole thing together. It was blackmail, pure and simple. Dean had told his father that Lorretta was pregnant. Calvin had pleaded with them to get clean. Dean then used that desire to weasel out nearly a year of occupation, free room and board and several thousand dollars. It must have been hell for the old man. Here he had built his own world for himself, single-handedly making his life's dream come true, and then came the world in the form of his son and "that dreadful thing", determined to dig its claws back into him and scratch out whatever it could.

  Finally, Miranda was born. Calvin sent the announcement to all of his friends, even the ones he wasn't on speaking terms with anymore. Miranda counted nearly fifty email addresses. "WONDERFUL NEWS" was the subject line, and the body contained

  "MIRANDA AMELIA HARDEN, BORN THIS DAY OCT __ 20__, SEVEN POUNDS SIX OUNCES HEALTHY BEAUTIFUL WONDERFUL GIRL, MY GRANDCHILD"

  Miranda would cry every time she read that email. There weren't many more after that. One or two contained news that Dean had promised to leave but demanded more money. Calvin didn't have the amount. He wasn't sure what he was going to do. Finally, a few months after her birth, Calvin told Earl that Dean and Loretta were gone, and they'd left Miranda with him. Her mother and father were mentioned again only once after that, several months later, a brief notice to Earl announcing their deaths. No details were provided.

  Chapter Eight

  Mornings always began with the list of impossible things, or at least that's what Miranda called it. There were a number of tasks that were becoming more and more difficult by the day, that would soon call for more practical methods. At the top of the list was the winter hay, which the Jessup Hay boys had left a month or so previously at the end of the fire road, about a mile and a half down the trail. So far she'd been taking a few bundles at a time, pushing them off the top of the pile onto the narrow cart while Betty or Wilma, either one of the two gray mares, waited patiently below. The problem was that the pile was becoming reduced to cart level, and soon that would mean lifting or hoisting them up, a job for which Miranda was simply not strong enough. She would need some kind of mechanical aid, or else break down and ask the Jessup boys for help. She didn't want to do that. It would invariably lead to questions.

  She'd been studying devices on the internet. What she needed, she knew, was a forklift, and it grieved her that of all the things that Calvin had prepared for, he hadn't yet gotten around to that, the one thing he probably knew best. At least her studies had paid off in one way so far; she'd built a solar-powered opening panel for the chicken run, so it came up by itself in the morning and the chickens could run down the ramp. That item was crossed off the list, but plenty of others remained. She wanted a way to roll up and move and unroll and re-stake the forty by forty foot goat fence. It was just too much trouble to take it all up by herself. She'd resorted to tying the goats into loose groups of three, with an extra length rope at one end which she'd tie to a tree or plant in the ground. She'd lead the four groups to a different thistleweed-filled area of the ranch and leave them properly spaced for a while, then return later to move them again. That was working okay, for the most part, though some of them did get all tangled up now and then. She'd hear them complaining and have to come out and fix it.

  She'd kept to the schedule that Calvin had run, and for the most part everything clicked, but she was beginning to develop her own routine, and wanted to cut down on the time she spent doing the things she liked least, so she could have more for the ones she liked better. Calvin had always insisted on a mid-morning break for his coffee. Miranda didn't need that, so she used that time for watching her favorite soap, A Vilag Forog, and engaging in a little session of chat on A Vilag A Vilag, the show's forum. Then she would practice the new words she learned with the computer-voiced text-to-speech trainer.

  Some late apples were ready for canning and she'd brought out the jars and the sugar and Splenda. This was going to take up much of her day but she knew she'd be glad that she'd done it once she tasted the sweet apple butter on a cold winter morning the following year. She'd put the task on the impossible list but she knew very well how to do it, from the slicing to the boiling to the spicing and the mashing to the canning. She'd already cleaned out the jars from the previous season and set some aside for the pears which were also ripening quickly. But before she could get down to that, she'd groom the mares some and spend time with them, then make lunch.

  Most days the hours flew by, and she'd find herself weary and needing a nap by mid-afternoon, in the silence. She crawled up into the loft and pulled the blankets up over her head, trying her best not to listen to the nagging sensation that someone was coming, that footsteps were crunching along the old gravel pathway. This time they were. She heard voices and they were not in her head, but outside getting louder and closer.

  "Calvin?" one of the voices was shouting. It was an older man's voice. "Calvin, you in there? You around?"

  "Yo, Cal!" called another, younger man's voice. Miranda froze in her bed. She wanted to crawl over and peek out the window, but she didn't dare move lest she get noticed. The front door was unlocked, she knew. Would they come in?

  "Calvin? It's Sheriff Rangold!" the older man yelled, and Miranda tensed up even more. On the one hand, it was good it was the sheriffs. They wouldn't mean her no harm if worse came to pass. On the other hand, they might just come into the house if they wanted. One of them was knocking on the door now and calling again for her grandfather.

  "Guess he isn't in there," said the younger man's voice.

  "Guess not," the other agreed.

  "Could be anywhere on this old ranch."

  "Yeah, suppose so. Damn shame to come all this way and not find him."

  "You want to go looking around? Could be he's out by those goats I hear bleating."

  "You go. I'll write up a note in case you don't find him. You know what to say?"

  "Sure, we're just checking. Carters been asking."

  "Right, and go easy. Calvin don't like much snooping around. Don't sneak up behind him now either. Make sure he knows you are there before he can see you. The old man gets riled pretty quick."

  "No worries, boss," the young sheriff said as Miranda heard them walk off. After a few minutes the other returned, called out once again and then stuck a note under the door. Miranda waited a long time until she was sure they were gone before she dropped down out of the loft and went over and picked up the paper. There was nothing much to it, just like the sheriff had said. The Carters down at the country store just wanted to make sure things were all right, and to ask him if he wanted any poppy seeds again. Miranda smiled. Calvin had wanted to make her a cake. He hadn't gotten around to it, so she'd ended up making it herself, as one last present from the grumpy old man.

  Chapter Nine

  Lark was the one who let it slip at the dinner table one night. He didn't mean to, and at fi
rst, despite his sister's dirty look, he thought he'd gotten away with it. After all, he only mentioned the words 'lemon chutney' to describe his disgust with what his mother was serving.

  "What is this? Lemon Chutney?" he'd snickered a moment before Grace kicked him hard in the shin under the table.

  "Ow," he blurted involuntarily.

  "Something the matter, hon?" Lucky asked blithely. She hadn't been paying attention. She had prepared some kind of poached fish knowing full well the children despised that kind of thing, but really, she'd had quite enough of them lately. Grace was a bundle of drama, full of complaints about every single person she knew, and brought the whole scene to the table each night, right down the list of who was a turd, who was a creep, who was a nuisance, who was a blot, who had no reason to live and who would be better off dead. Aside from all that were the reasons for such appelations. So-and-so had a butch hairstyle. So-and-so wore stupid clothes. So-and-so would never shut up ("remind you of someone you know?" Lucky wanted to ask). And then there was Lark, Lark and his levels, Lark and his trophies, Lark and his buddies talking non-stop about this game or that and who was ahead and who knew how to do what and build what and make what and shoot what and what what what what what was all she could hear.

  "Let them complain about dinner," she said to herself, "I'll make what I want to make." The truth was she also didn't like seafood, but how many days in a row can you make spaghetti, or dry chicken breast, or macaroni and cheese? She never was much in the kitchen and by now at least Grace ought to be helping out more. Why, when she was fourteen ... well, when she was fourteen she was sneaking out nights with her sister looking for boys and unfortunately too often finding them. At least Grace had more self-esteem than she'd had. Grace would make boys come looking for her. As she glanced at her daugher while thinking these thoughts, Lark's comment finally sank in.

  "Lemon chutney?" she said to herself. "That's not something you hear every day." In fact, she couldn't remember why it sounded familiar, but it did ring a bell. Later that night she made the connection, and several ideas occured to her all at once. First, that her children might have been snooping through her computer account. Two, that she never did follow up and find out what happened to her sister, Loretta. The lemon chutney man said she had died but never said how. He never even answered her questions and she thought that was strange. It was clear from his notes - as she read them again - that he had despised and hated Loretta. He was probably glad she was dead. The bitterness shown through his tone. Lucky could guess well enough. Loretta had never been easy to like.

  From the time they were babies, Loretta was always contrary. Every day was opposite day for her twin. She was constantly causing problems for teachers, for parents, for kids in the school and around. She was simply not a nice person. Lucky knew that. She was not nice to Lucky, who was probably the one person in the world who could stand her. Lucky thought of her sister as training. If she could put up with her she could put up with anyone, and it turned out to be pretty true. Lucky was hard to upset. She hadn't cried when Loretta had sliced open her dolls with a knife. She didn't fret when Loretta spray-painted her closet, and everything in it, even her shoes. She didn't whine when her sister waltzed into her room and started kissing her boyfriend right there on her bed. That was Loretta. She was plain awful so what could you do? Lucky got some new clothes, she got a new boyfriend, she got some new dolls. She looked on the bright side. Sooner or later, Loretta was going to provide opportunities for positive change!

  It all sort of changed with the drugs. Meth's a killer, as everyone knows. It kills you right from the inside out, and only the truly fortunate ones can survive. It was going to kill her sister, and Lucky could tell. That's why it didn't surprise her when Calvin told her she'd died. She assumed right away what it was. But still, she was curious. What if it wasn't the cause? It was something to talk about anyway, and she was currently dating a lawyer named Bill who claimed to have been a private investigator at some point in the past. He was always going on about that. He only got out of the work because of the danger, and now he had kids and a wife whom he cheated on almost as if it was his duty as a middle-aged man. Bill was a talker all right. Told her over champagne and mussels (her treat) that it would be no problem at all, he'd be glad to. Told her to let him see her computer. She'd brought it. He opened the first email from Calvin, right-clicked and selected the original message, then jotted down some numbers onto his napkin. Tucking the napkin into his pocket, he promised to let her know exactly when, where and how Loretta had passed, even where her body was now.

  Bill was as good as his word. It only took him two days to come up with most of the story. Loretta Rison had become Loretta Harden. She'd served some time in Valley State Prison for grand larceny, possession and assault. She'd given birth to one Miranda Amelia Harden. No word since. Nothing in any state, county or federal records, not in the U.S. of A in any case. Maybe she'd gone down to Mexico? That would take some more figuring out.

  "Nothing about her passing away?" Lucky was only shocked about that. She was curious about the baby, of course but Bill had no further data on her. "But this Calvin says that she died. There's got to be something somewhere."

  "Nope," Bill replied. "I would have found it for sure."

  "But he said right there in the email. 'I had the misfortune to call her my daughter-in-law after she married my son. I regret to inform you that she died a year later.'"

  "I know," Bill said, "That's why I checked and double-checked and triple-checked. There's no death reported. There's nothing about her husband either, not after the birth of the child. The both of them totally walked off the end of the world. They plain disappeared."

  "Spooky," Lucky said, and then, "what else did you find out about this Calvin Harden guy? Do you know where he lives?"

  "More or less," Bill said, "but not exactly. Seems he doesn't quite have an address. Seems the guy lives on a ranch up in the mountains. That one's really gone off the grid. All of them might still be up there. They're not hooked up to power, not hooked up to plumbing, not connected to anything hardly. They got a cell tower there, though. The email came from a tiny old place called Los Arboles. Population two hundred and eighty. That's how I tracked him down. Relays, you know."

  Lucky didn't know and didn't care. Bill was all right. She believed him and she was kicking herself that all this time, ever since she'd first heard from Calvin, she hadn't even questioned the fact of her own sister's death. She'd felt it was true. It was hard to explain, but when you're a twin, sometimes you just know. Loretta was not in the world. Every instinct in her body was telling her that, and yet, according to Bill, maybe she was. She didn't know how she was going to find out. It was too far away and she had a job, and the kids were in school, and she hated to drive. Maybe she could ask Bill? It was something to consider. She'd have to figure out first just how much she liked him.

  Chapter Ten

  In the days and weeks after the sheriffs came around, Miranda had become steadily more nervous and worried. Their mention of the Carters had made her afraid to return to that store, now that she knew they were poking around about Calvin. The only other alternative she knew of was the Beach Front General Store much farther away. She had gone there one time with her grandafather when she was a very small girl, and it seemed to her that the trip had taken forever. Looking it up on the maps she concluded that the ride would be around six hours each way, and even that was only a guess because she wasn't completely sure of the trails. Also, she didn't know if either one of the horses was up for the trip, or which one to choose when it came down to that. They were both the same age and in much the same shape, not bad for horses going on fifteen or so, but maybe not great for something like this.

  She wasn't sure of herself for that matter. All this time since Calvin had gone she'd been sticking as close as she could to the life that she knew, even though it was really his life she was living, his dream of the way life should be. She was living like a
settler in long-settled country, a homesteader staying at home. She knew it was strange, that she was not like most other girls, and that made her even more shy of the world. She wouldn't even let herself cry more than once every two weeks or so. It was slowly getting harder, the opposite of how she thought it would be. She really needed someone to talk to. Talking out loud to his ghost wasn't working too well anymore and she couldn't really make herself understood to her Hungarian soap opera buddies or even Irina. That wasn't the right way anyway. Online was fine for discussing the pros and cons of the housewife's actor's performance, and whether or not the shoe salesman would ever find love, but what was she going to do with herself? Who could help?

  She found plenty of family-style forums and lots of advice-type websites, and poked around them for a while. Everybody had their own particular problems but she didn't find a situation quite like hers. The opposite situation was plentiful - kids who had run away from home and were now on their own, but her family, in a sense, had run away from her and left her at home all alone. Once she started looking at those places she realized a whole list of things; that other people had much worse problems than hers, that a lot of kids were seriously messed up, that a lot of parents had let their kids down, that tons of children had no one to look after them, that plenty of people had recently lost loved ones, that so many others were lonely. None of these revelations made her feel better about her own situation, but she did feel even more grateful for how much Calvin had done for her. He had only forgotten one thing, and that was simply because he hadn't intended to die until she was old enough to properly look after herself.