Sisters in the Wind(96)

I begin with, “What happened to Isabella Rivera?”

“She was told you changed your mind about placing Luke with a single parent before the adoption was finalized,” Mrs. Sterling says. “The Hoppys’ adoption attorney worked with us on the necessary paperwork. We couldn’t keep her from getting a different baby, so she’s a single parent to a baby who should have two parents. Another fatherless child raised by a selfish woman who put her wants ahead of God’s needs.” She looks to her husband. “God the Almighty needs every child to be raised by a mother and a father who heed His word.”

“The Hoppys—”

Mrs. Sterling cuts me off.

“We,” she emphasizes, “do this glorious work for God. Those people do it for money.” She practically spits her disgust as she speaks about the Hoppys.

“But why Luke?” My voice quivers. “You hate me so much. Please don’t take it out on my son.”

I remember Daunis’s story about the wolf mother. How she would fight to the death with her cubs behind her. But once the enemy had gotten a cub and she knew the fight was over, she just wanted her babies to be well cared for.

“Please just love him and—”

“How dare you presume to tell me how to parent a child,” she seethes. “You rotten girl.”

I focus on Mr. Sterling, acknowledging he’s in charge.

“I’m here, Mr. Sterling. You’ve shown me Luke. Please tell me what you want from me.” A sickening thought comes to me. I swallow my disgust. “Is it Stev—”

“Don’t you dare speak his name!” Mrs. Sterling wails.

Something happened to Steven, but I have no idea what. Only that they must blame me enough to exact revenge, to make me suffer first.

“I don’t understand,” I say.

Mr. Sterling’s voice is ice. “You and your vile lies, telling everyone about Steven,” he says.

I’m about to reply how nobody believed me, but I only told Mrs. Clark. She didn’t believe me. If others made allegations …

I remember my note to Stacy: Keep telling until someone believes you.

Mrs. Sterling composes herself enough to interject, “People whispered vicious stories about him. He said no one would hire him. He was too upset to keep up with his coursework at community college. He moved in with a no-good bunch.” Her voice breaks. “Then you killed him.”

Steven died? All the nightmares I had about him finding me at Hoppy Farm, and he was dead. Stacy was safe.

“I’m not buying the surprised act,” Mr. Sterling says. “Steven dies in a fire, and you have a history of setting fires. I checked into your whereabouts on that night. Surprise, surprise. Your foster parents said you went ‘shopping’”—he makes air quotes—“and didn’t return until late that evening.”

My only shopping trip was the night of the tornado outbreak.

“Let’s go.” He motions toward the door. “The Hoppys are ready for you.”



* * *



We pass the hammock grove. I look from the house where Luke and Stacy are, to the silver maple. The tree that was nearly destroyed by forces beyond its control. The tree with the hollow that looked like damage on the surface. But inside, like the layers of an onion, was something worth protecting.

The evening of my escape from Hoppy Farm, I had walked to the hammock grove before Jennifer was due to pick me up. An evening walk wasn’t out of the ordinary for me. Everyone knew I enjoyed spending time there before going to my library. If anyone noticed, they saw me walk around a bit before sitting next to a random tree. It wasn’t unusual to have my backpack with me. After all, I would be going shopping in Alpena. I always brought my backpack when I left the farm.

What they would have missed was the careful rearranging of items in my backpack. I had placed the Hoppys’ journal and a birthday book, Owl Moon, with Mona’s handwritten notes tucked inside on the soft deer hide. I made an offering of semaa before asking my silver maple to protect the bundle I had wrapped like baby bunting and secured with Diego’s crucifix.

Walking away from the silver maple—then and now—I recite the ending to the book my dad had given me on my second birthday.

When you go owling

you don’t need words

or warm

or anything but hope.

That’s what Pa says.

The kind of hope

that flies

on silent wings

under a shining

Owl Moon.

I cling to the hope that flies on silent wings as I try bartering.

“The Hoppys want me to give them a key I stole.” I don’t mention the journal yet. “It’s to a safe-deposit box at a bank and all the money they made.” Realizing the Sterlings aren’t likely to care about the money, I improvise. “There’s also a journal in the box, with proof of every crime the Hoppys committed. Give me Luke and I’ll give you the key.”

I stop talking so the Sterlings can consider my offer. We approach the ancient oak tree halfway between the hammock grove and the new barn. There are other trees, as well, but none as massive. I imagine it’s a milepost. They’ll accept my deal by the time we reach the giant oak.

“The Hoppys will give you every baby you want. You can save so many babies,” I say.