Chapter 7 #2
She went back to the kitchen, which was spotlessly cleaned and vacant of the Warners, who had probably turned in by now.
She considered knocking on their closed door but hated to disturb the older couple—almost as much as she hated to appear like an inept nanny.
Although she probably was. Convinced that Kat was not anywhere in the house, Meredith went outside, retracing the grounds tour Kat had taken her on.
But everything looked different in this dusky light, and she started to feel nervous.
Not for her own sake, but for Kat’s. Where was that girl?
What if wild animals roamed the woods? Didn’t they still have wolves in Europe? Mishka would probably know.
She walked toward the wooded hillside, calling out Kat’s name, even whistling her loud finger-whistle in hopes of getting the stubborn girl’s attention.
Kat was probably just trying to teach her that she didn’t want to be psychoanalyzed and was old enough to take care of herself. Except that she clearly did.
At the edge of the woods, Meredith felt uneasy. The trees were dense, and it was close to dark. It would probably be easy to get lost in there, especially for someone unfamiliar with the land. Like her. No, it was time to call on the Warners for help. If they decided she was incompetent, so be it.
She continued to call and whistle for the girl, hoping perhaps the Warners would hear her and come out to see what was wrong, but when she got to the house it was quiet.
Perhaps Mishka would know of a secret hiding place where Meredith might find his sister.
Besides, she needed to tuck him in. She ran up the stairs, hoping he had been true to his word.
To her relief, he was already in bed with Aesop’s Fables open before him.
“I’m sure that book is interesting.” She carefully removed it from him, setting it on the bedside table. “But it’s late.”
“I know.”
“And I may need your help. I cannot find your sister. Any idea where she may be? Does she do this often?” She tried not to look as worried as she felt.
“She’s in her room,” he said nonchalantly.
“Really?” A wave of relief and frustration washed over her.
“I heard her come up the stairs a few minutes ago.”
“Okay.” She bent over to tuck him in. “Do you say prayers before bed?”
His brow creased. “Prayers?”
“You know, tell God thank you for the day, bless my family, goodnight?”
He shook his head. “But maybe we used to do that. With Mama.”
“Can you remember that long ago? I mean, you were pretty young.”
“I don’t know for sure. I think I remember her.
I think she used to tuck me in…sometimes.
I’m not sure. We watch movies sometimes, and I see a mommy tucking a boy in bed, and it seems like Mama and me.
But sometimes I can’t remember what she looked like even though I have her picture. ” He pointed to a bureau. “There.”
“May I look at it?”
He brightened. “Sure.”
Meredith went over to the silver-framed picture of a serious looking young woman centered on the dark wood dresser.
She picked up the black-and-white photo.
“She’s pretty.” Despite her words, Meredith knew she wouldn’t truly call the woman “pretty” if the boy weren’t listening.
After all, every boy must think his mother pretty.
“She has your coloring. Dark hair and dark eyes.”
“That’s what everyone says.” He sat up in bed as she brought the photo over.
Meredith wanted to ask how his mother had died but not right before bedtime. “Her tiara is elegant.”
“Kat has that now.”
“Right.” Meredith wondered if Mishka was jealous that his sister would be queen.
How would that feel? It seemed a lot for an eight-year-old to process, but Mishka was so grown up for his age.
The boy was full of surprises. Again, she knew that wasn’t a good bedtime topic.
“So do you think your mother may have prayed with you before bed?” she asked again.
“My mother taught me to pray when I was little. And I still do it.”
“Can you teach me?” he asked.
“I’d love to.” She sat down next to him. “Perhaps your mother is listening.” She began to pray in everyday language, slowly speaking one line at a time, and like a polite parrot Mishka echoed her words…until she said, “Amen.”
“Amen.” He looked up with sincere dark eyes. “Did I do it right?”
“Yes, of course. There really isn’t a wrong way to pray, Mishka. God understands our hearts even if we don’t have the right words.”
“Do you think Mama was listening?” He sounded wistful.
“I wouldn’t be surprised.”
“Because she is in heaven. Right? That’s what Grandmama says.”
“I would definitely go with Grandmama on that one, Mishka.”
He smiled. “Good.”
Without asking for permission, she leaned over and kissed his forehead. “Do you mind?” she asked as she sat up, but his smile was all the answer she needed. “Goodnight, Mishka. Sleep well.”
She turned off the light, but as she left the room, it felt like she’d left a tiny piece of her heart behind. Was it possible to love a small, slightly precocious, overly intelligent, motherless boy that you’d only known for a few hours? Maybe so…
.