“So what? I don’t care about what I have to go through. Who cares about that? I just want to find the girl,” he said urgently. “Ma, I gotta go. I have a lab this afternoon.” “Okay. I’ll call you when I know something.” “’Kay. Love you,” he said. “Love you more.” Molly waited to hear the line go dead before she hung up the phone.
Twenty Two
Tracey couldn’t tell if today would be a good or bad day for Mummy who was already dressed in jeans, a blue turtleneck, and a blue sweater. Tracey had gotten used to the cool air of their sleeping chamber—the smell, too; she barely noticed it anymore. Now it just seemed like home—like when she’d walk into her grandma’s house, and it had a smell all its own.
All morning, Mummy had been busy collecting things in a basket. She had her Bible and other worship books, bottles of water, and the quarters that she had lined up on the top shelf. Tracey remained still under her blanket—partly for warmth and partly because it was fun to peek at what Mummy was doing. She watched Mummy pull two picture frames off of the top shelf. She smiled when she looked at them, then placed them back up on the shelf. She felt sad as Mummy’s hand drifted to cover her heart, as if it hurt. Tracey wondered if Mummy missed her mother. Tracey felt a pang in her heart, but tucked it away with annoyance—she still couldn’t believe that her own mother hadn’t wanted to keep her safe from the toxins that were outside—and what about Emma? Would she die from them? Maybe they were already sick, and that’s why her real mom wanted her to be with Mummy. Maybe her real mother set it up so that Tracey would be saved by Mummy.
Tracey reached for her new doll. Tracey held her doll tight against her chest and touched her necklace. She smiled, relieved that it was still there. Thank God, she thought and liked the new way that she had come to think of God. She liked thanking Him, knowing He was watching over them. “Good morning, Tracey,” Mummy said sweetly. Tracey lowered the blanket and smiled, “Morning.” “Guess where we’re going today?” Mummy asked, settling herself on the edge of the mattress. Tracey looked at her, asking with her eyes.
“We’re going to see my mummy.”
A shiver ran up Tracey’s back. “But,” she said, tentatively, “I thought she was dead.”
“She is, honey, but we still go visit her.” Mummy handed Tracey the sweater and pants she’d worn the day before and walked to the other end of the chamber. Tracey dressed under the covers to avoid the cold. She wasn’t scared of their dirt room anymore. Something had changed inside of her. She now thought of their chamber as warmly as she thought of the cabin in Little House on the Prairie—one of her favorite DVDs.
“Tracey, you have to eat a good breakfast today. We’re going to do a lot of walking, and I don’t want you to get tired.”
“Okay,” Tracey said.
Mummy busied herself making breakfast. She removed the butter and milk from the little blue Igloo cooler. She prepared the cereal first, set it on the table, and placed one of the three spoons they owned next to it. Tracey tiptoed across the cold dirt floor and hopped onto the upended log, her feet dangling. She began eating and listened to Mummy mumbling her prayers.
Tracey nibbled on the crust of her bread, wondering how she could ask the question that was on her lips. Should she ask? Was it a stupid question? She gathered her courage and asked timidly, “Mummy? How did you learn how to talk to God?” She held her breath, unsure if Mummy would be upset that she didn’t innately know how to talk to God.
Mummy looked away. The pit of Tracey’s stomach suddenly felt heavy. Her courage slipped away like a rumor. “I’m sorry, Mummy,” she said. “I didn’t mean to make you sad. I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.” Tears instantly formed in Tracey’s eyes, the memory of the bad spot raced through her. She hoped she wouldn’t have to go back there. She had done something bad. She had made Mummy upset.
Mummy turned toward Tracey, her mouth set firmly in a thin line. Tracey closed her eyes and readied herself for what was sure to come. Mummy grabbed her by the shoulders, not hard, but strong. Tears streamed down Tracey’s cheeks; she’d misread Mummy. She was mad, not sad. She pleaded, her words shaky, fearful, “Mummy, I really am sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
Tracey’s chest rattled with each hiccupping breath. She felt herself being pulled into Mummy’s chest, her head resting on the pillow of her breasts. Mummy’s large hand caressed the top of Tracey’s hair.
“Shhh,” she whispered. “Oh, Tracey, I learned a long, long time ago how to talk to God. I learned before I even came here.” She knelt down, her eyes met Tracey’s, and she reached up and gently wiped Tracey’s tears away. “Take a deep breath, honey,” she said. “It’s okay.”
Tracey slowed her tears and drew in a jagged, hitching breath, confused. “But how did you learn?” she asked in a whisper. “How do you know what to say?” She wanted to make Mummy proud. She wanted to learn to talk to God just like her. Maybe if she prayed hard enough, Emma, Mommy, and Daddy could be saved, too.
“Well,” Mummy offered a hand to help Tracey up from her perch, and then gathered the basket that she had filled, “I listened very carefully to what my mummy was saying, and she gave me lessons, too. Every day we studied the Bible. I repeated the words of God until I knew them all by heart—and when I didn’t read it right, or I pouted about learning my teachings, I got punished, too. So, you see, Tracey, the bad spot helps you remember what’s important, what you need to learn, and how you need to act.”
“You did?” Tracey asked, relieved. She sat on the mattress and pulled her socks over her cold feet, then stepped into her boots.
“Yes, I knew that I had to learn how to talk to God the right way in order to be saved. I would read and read, even when we weren’t having a lesson. My mummy was very proud of me. Some nights, I read until my eyes stung and all the words on the page just ran together in one big blurry line.”
Tracey couldn’t imagine reading that much. Tracey would try, but she wasn’t very good of a reader yet, and that worried her, but she’d do just about anything to stay out of the bad spot.
“Don’t you worry,” Mummy said, turning away from Tracey, who had crouched over the chamber pot in the corner of the room. “I’ll make sure that you know exactly what to say to God. We have a lifetime together, and many, many years to learn to do it right.”
Tracey wiped herself, pulled her pants up, and straightened her sweater. The basket Mummy held now had a lantern and candles in it as well. She carried a backpack over her shoulder, and Tracey wondered what was in it. They must be traveling far, she thought, to need all of those supplies. They were leaving the chamber and entering the first tunnel when Mummy asked Tracey to wait for a second. She headed back toward the chamber, and returned quickly.
“Here,” she said, handing Tracey her new doll. “I don’t think you want to leave this behind.”
Consciousness arrived with the sound of the shower. Molly rolled over in bed and reached for Cole. Her hand flopped across the empty, wrinkled sheets. She sighed, relieved. The tension between them the evening before had been too thick to bear. Cole had hounded her over the threatening note and her determination. She’d escaped the argument by going to bed earlier than he had, and feigning sleep when his head finally hit the pillow. She stretched, throwing her bare legs over the side of the bed and wishing she were still folded neatly away in the dream that she could no longer remember.
She sauntered sleepily toward the bathroom, nervous for the first time in many years, and pushed open the bathroom door; steam greeted her like warm mist from an ocean, clearing the morning chill.