“Yes, I’ll hold.” Elizabeth held her cell between her chin and her shoulder as she carried the last of the boxes inside. She was trying to hang on to her good mood, but the phone call was making it hard. It was the fourth one today.

First the nursing home had called complaining that they hadn’t received her payment this month. Then she’d had to call the gas and electric companies because nothing was on at the house yet. Now it was the moving company - running late with her furniture. She sighed. What else could go wrong?

“Look, Mommy, there’s a swing!”

Moving to the open back door, Elizabeth peered out into the yard. Her daughter, Indie, was jumping from foot to foot, unable to contain her excitement. She pointed at an old tire-swing. It was sagging, hanging by a rope from what looked like an honest-to-God apple tree.  It was too perfect - something from a Norman Rockwell painting. Elizabeth couldn’t resist a smile.

Indie started to clamber up onto the swing.

“Indie, honey,” she called. “I don’t think you should -”

Just then the voice came on the line again.

“No, no, you don’t understand,” she said, after listening for a moment. “We can’t wait till tomorrow. We’re here now. Without furniture. Without beds. Where is my kid supposed to sleep tonight?”

While talking, she’d begun to unpack a box of kitchenware, and she paused to check on Indie. When she glanced out the door, she dropped the phone and started to run. The gate was open and a strange man was holding her child.

Elizabeth ran toward them, her breath coming in short  shallow gasps

.

When she reached them, she grabbed Indie. She yanked her away from the man.

“Hey there,” he said. His tone was friendly, and he appeared not to notice her terror.

She glared at him, trying to form words, but somehow unable to speak.

“That swing’s not safe,” he explained. “I saw you were busy, and I didn’t want the kid to get hurt.”

He gestured at the rope. There was a frayed spot  -  just shy of the breaking point - near the branch. She hadn’t seen that from the house.   

“I’m Walter,” he said, holding out his hand. “I live next door.” Another wave of the hand to show a two story townhome to her right.

Her thoughts beginning to clear, she reached out and shook his hand. “Elizabeth,” she said. “Elizabeth Lennox.”

She hesitated for a moment, before years of parental admonitions overrode her nervousness. “Would you like to come in for some coffee? I’m afraid I don’t have much else at the moment. Our furniture hasn’t even arrived.”

“No, no,” he said, sounding concerned. “Don’t bother. I know what moving can do to you.”

She chuckled, and then stood, unsure what to say or do in this situation. How often does a woman find herself in the yard of an empty house with a stranger?

“Elizabeth,” he said at last. “That’s a good, strong name.”

He paused for a moment, then reached out and brushed a hand through Indie’s hair. “And who is this little darling?”

Indie shrank back from the touch. She had little patience for adults who talked down to children.

“India,” Elizabeth answered, when her daughter did not. “She’s six.”

She’s heavy, too, she thought, setting the child on the ground.

“So,” Walter asked. “Is your husband home?”

She’d read enough horror stories to know that was a dangerous question. Trying to sound casual, she changed the subject by turning to speak to Indie.

“Honey, why don’t you go inside and get a juice?”

Indie jumped at the suggestion, and ran inside. She emerged a moment later carrying two juice boxes, and offered one to their neighbor.

“No thank you,” he said, smiling and giving her head another pat.

Turning to Elizabeth, he dropped the smile. “Don’t you think it’s dangerous letting her in the kitchen alone?”

“She’s six,” Elizabeth laughed. “She knows not to touch anything.

Walter frowned but didn’t continue with the topic.

“So,” Elizabeth said. “What do the kids do for fun around here?”

Walter mentioned a few businesses and the lone park in the area, but he didn’t seem enthusiastic about them. Then he added, “I know it might not seem like much to you big city types. Our PTO is always organizing events for the children and families, though. There’s always something enriching to do.”

Enriching, she thought. Strange wording.

A few minutes later, he left, and Elizabeth brought Indie inside to explore while she tried to find something to fix for dinner. Her iPhone lay on the floor where she’d dropped it, and she picked it up and tried to redial the moving company. No one answered and she kicked herself. There was no way she could afford a night in a hotel - she wasn’t even sure where a hotel was in Cherry Creek, and she didn’t know anyone in town.

“Indie,” she began. She tried to force excitement and cheer into her voice as she spoke. “How would you like to camp inside tonight?”

Indie gave a noncommittal shrug and went back to playing with her doll.  Elizabeth took it as an agreement, and decided to celebrate the victory with a dinner out. She reminded herself to go shopping as soon as the furniture arrived in the morning. They needed groceries; the food situation was beyond desperate.

So much effort involved in a move! Excited as she’d been to get out of the city, she had misgivings about being so far from anything. Cherry Creek was beautiful, quaint; safe. But she wasn’t used to the quiet, and it disturbed her. And nothing had gone right with the move.

“Tomorrow is a new day,” she reminded herself, as she strapped Indie into her booster seat. She pulled up her phone’s GPS and did a quick search for local restaurants. She found one listing - a diner, and set the phone on the dash.

“Tomorrow is a new day,” she repeated. She let the thought echo in her head - a mantra to ward off future mishaps.

The rusty, metallic scent of fresh blood greeted her as she opened her eyes. If her eyes were even open.  The darkness surrounding her was so complete that she wasn’t sure until she blinked her eyes a few times. Yep. Definitely open.

Where was the blood? Not sure she wanted an answer to that just yet, she let the question slip away.  

Another question crept into its place. What had awoken her? The echo of a slamming door wafted through her memory.  It felt wrong, though. She had a sense that the door had closed hours ago.

Where am I?

She lifted her head to look around. A sharp pain rewarded her by radiating from behind her eyes, through her skull and fading to a dull ache as it beat its way down her body.

Jesus, she thought. It feels like I’ve gone ten rounds with a professional kick-boxer.

She decided to lower her head again for the moment. It wasn’t like she could see anything anyway, and she wondered why her eyes weren’t adjusting to the darkness.

The sharp pain faded, but the ache was more persistent, and refused to leave her in peace.  Maybe that was because she was resting on something hard. Another something hard - hard and sharp - was pressing into the base of her spine.

Concentrate, she told herself. She closed her eyes against the darkness and ran her fingers along the cold, unyielding surface. Stone? Concrete?

She focused all her attention on the information her fingertips were sending. Yes, it was cement. Definitely cement.  She let her hands wander further out - as far as she could reach. Finding no edge, she decided it must be a floor, and drawing on all the strength she could muster, she pushed herself to her hands and knees.

She rubbed her back and wondered what could have caused the indentation her fingers found there. Kneeling, she felt along the floor again, trying to find the object that had been beneath her.  Finding it, she felt smooth, hard plastic. It formed most of a square, except for a single broken corner. She pressed her thumb against it, and it broke the skin. She pulled.  Thin, but - yes, it opened. The round indentation inside confirmed her guess. Huh. It was a CD case. Not the most useful thing to have, but she had nothing else, so she decided to keep it for now.

Trembling, she stood, and with her arms in front of her, started to feel her way around the room.

The lack of any light was disorienting. Her eyes still weren’t adjusting. Stop it, she reminded herself as she started to panic. If mom can find her way, so can you. With renewed determination, she closed her eyes and tried to tune in to her other senses. There was water dripping, somewhere to her right, and a faint whooshing, like the oven on the old gas stove they had when she was a kid. A water heater? A basement maybe? It smelled like a basement. Old and dank and musty.

Indie, she thought, the thought striking her heart. Indie was in danger.

The thought of her daughter motivated her. She moved at last, stumbling along, calling the girl's name.

"Indie," she said. "Indie, please, God, are you here?"

She hadn’t expected an answer. Memories were flooding in, threatening to overwhelm her. The hand on her daughter’s shoulder, the cold voice behind her. Oh, God, Indie...

She found the warped, wooden steps, and tripped a few times on the way up before deciding it would be safer to crawl. At the top, a heavy wooden door barred her way, and she clawed at the knob, willing it to turn. Locked, of course. They weren’t stupid, after all.

She beat on the door, knowing she couldn't knock it down, but praying that someone would hear her. Help her. She put her ear to the wood, but heard nothing. Defeated, for the moments, unable to think of any other options, she sank down onto the step and tried to think.

Her head was throbbing again. She poked at her hair with two fingers, and they came away wet. She raised her hand to her nose and sniffed at the sticky substance. Blood. Her head was bleeding. At least that answered one question.

She crawled back down the stairs, hoping to find another door, or a window. Even if it was too small to climb through, she could, perhaps, call for help from the outside.

Behind her, the door opened.

After a quiet, uneventful weekend, Elizabeth drove across town to sign Indie up for school. She’d grown worried when the realtor described the school as “across town”, but the drive was less than five minutes. Cherry Creek, she realized, was even smaller than she’d thought.

The school was a low, squat building, made of cherry red bricks. Elizabeth was enchanted when she noticed it had an actual steeple with a bell, like in drawings of old school houses.  She got Indie out of the car and they walked up a large, well-swept stone path to the front entrance.

Indie’s shoes squeaked, the sound disproportionately loud as it echoed through the empty corridors. The office was on the far end of the building. Elizabeth found that odd - and a bit frightening. Weren’t they worried about strangers walking in unquestioned? She would have preferred the office near the entrance, where they could track comings and goings.

Right, she told herself. And a security guard who sends the kids through a metal detector.

She tried to force herself to relax. This wasn’t a booming metropolis, after all. She figured she was the only stranger seen in this town in years. There was nothing to worry about.

The final steps in the registration process went by quick. Indie’s previous school had already transferred her transcripts. They had her immunization records and contact forms filled out and sent in a month ago.

“Can you write your name yet, India?” The secretary asked the girl.

Indie nodded.

“You need to read this, or I will read it to you, then write your name here.” Her  perfectly manicured nail tapped a line on the page.

Elizabeth reached for the paper and skimmed through it. A behavior contract. It outlined the rules and expectations of the school. Indie needed to sign and agree to follow them, or face the consequences outlined in “The Handbook”.

“Handbook?” Elizabeth asked. She wondered what the point of a behavior contract with a six year old was. Maybe it would work for teenagers, but-

The secretary handed her a thick, heavy book with the school’s name emblazoned across the front cover. As she took it, Elizabeth slid the behavior contract back to her daughter. She examined the book as Indie signed.

Cherry Creek Elementary

Student Handbook

The silhouette of an owl printed in red formed a watermark behind the text, and over a photograph of the school on the cover.  

“The school mascot - you’re the owls?” she asked.

The secretary’s back stiffened. She seemed upset, somehow, but that was silly. Elizabeth saw no way that her mistake could have offended anyone. Some people take the whole team spirit thing to extremes, she told herself.

“The children are the Redfeathers,” the secretary said. When Elizabeth nodded and smiled, she relaxed again and turned her attention back to Indie. Elizabeth shrugged the incident off and opened the handbook.

Once was a little boy called Redfeather who lived with his great-grandfather in a village near a great big frog-meadow. His great-grandfather taught him to shoot with his bow and arrows. The old grandfather told Redfeather to respect all creatures.

Every day Redfeather would take his bow and arrow and kill all the frogs he could get and the crawfish too. One day a heron came along and told Redfeather that she would give him her best feather if he would leave the frogs alone. She told him that she had a nest of babies to feed and that he was wasting her food by killing all the frogs and crayfish. Redfeather said, "Ha! I don't want your old dirty feathers. You can keep your feathers and leave me alone. I can do what I want."

So the birds met together to figure out what to do about Redfeather, who was taking all their food. Near Redfeathers's village there was an island with some large trees on it, and on this island lived a wise old owl. Every evening Redfeather would go out and refuse to come in to bed, and run around and be noisy. The crane and other birds all complained about him because he scared away all the rabbits and small birds. They said he must be punished. The crane said that she was starving because he killed the frogs and the birds. No one could live in peace.

One evening, the owl perched himself on a tree close to Redfeather's wigwam, and said, "Hoo Hoo!" Redfeather's great-grandfather said to him, "Redfeather, come in, don't you hear that owl calling?"

But Redfeather said, "I'll get the biggest arrow and shoot him."

Grandfather said, "The owl has large ears and he can put rabbits and other food in them. He might catch you too. You'd better come in and go to sleep."

But Redfeather disobeyed his Grandfather and went out and shot at the owl. He missed, and while he was out looking for the arrow, the owl swooped down and picked him up and stuck him in his ears, and flew off with him.

The owl flew across the lake to his island, and up into an old oak tree where the nest of baby owls were.

He put Redfeather down there, and told his babies, "When you get big enough to eat meat, you will eat Redfeather." The little owls were quite excited at this. Then the owl flew away.

The next day, the owl called to the crane and the other birds and said, "When your babies are old enough we'll have a feast of Redfeather. I have him imprisoned in my oak tree." So Redfeather was kept a prisoner, and he cried, but he couldn't get down.

Back in the village, all the people knew Redfeather was lost. His great-grandfather asked all the people and animals to help him find Redfeather. At last they found him a prisoner in the owl's tree. The spirits told the great-grandfather to give a great feast and ask the owl to return Redfeather. His great-grandfather gave a huge feast, and Redfeather was returned to his great-grandfather.

Redfeather also promised that he would never again misuse the food that had been made for the birds.

Following the inscription was a note that the story was based on a legend of the Chippewa Indians. Elizabeth thought the story was a little too much for such young children. She supposed that it was good that they were embracing native traditions. Still, it was darker than she liked. At least the story taught some often neglected morals and values.

She glanced up and saw Indie chattering to the secretary as she finished her name. The secretary pressed a button. “We’re going to send you on to class now, India,” she said. “While I finish up here with your mother.”

As soon as she had finished speaking, there was a hesitant tap on the office door.

“You may come in.” A girl who looked to be a few years older than India stepped inside. “Madeline, please take India to her classroom. She will be with Mrs. Cutler.”

The girl nodded, a quick, respectful bob of the head, and reached for Indie’s hand. “Come along, India,” she said.

Elizabeth struggled to suppress a laugh at the adoration in Indie’s eyes as she looked at the older girl. Apparently, she’d already found a role model.

“Now then,” the secretary said, clasping her hands on the desk and leaning in. “I noticed a few omissions in your paperwork. You neglected to fill out the contact information for your husband.”

“Oh,” Elizabeth said. “I’m not married.”

The other woman pursed her lips in obvious disapproval. “I see,” she said, her tone implying that she did not.

Elizabeth wasn’t sure why she felt the need to explain, but she did. “Indie’s adopted,” she said. “My sister died during childbirth, and she never knew who the father was -”

“That’s fine,” the secretary cut her off.

“Emergency contacts?” she went on, her tone clipped; curt. “Who do we call to pick up India in an emergency if we can’t reach you?”

“I listed my cell,” Elizabeth said. For some reason she felt as if her every word was being judged - and not favorably. “We don’t have any other close friends or family anymore. There’s my mother, but she’s in a nursing home.”

The secretary stood, without warning, snatching up the files and turning to the filing cabinet behind her. “That takes care of everything, then,” she said.

Elizabeth stood. She understood that the woman had just dismissed her. I wonder if she’s always this rude, she thought.

As she turned to leave, the secretary stopped her.

“Oh, Miss Lennox,” she said. “We have an amazing PTO. All the parents are on the PTO here. You should really come to the next meeting.”

Elizabeth glanced back over her shoulder. The secretary was holding out a flyer with a list of dates on it. She stepped back to the desk and took the page.

“The PTO, that’s the Parent Teach-”

“Yes, I know.” Elizabeth hated to interrupt people but she couldn’t take the woman’s superior tone any longer. “I’ll be there.”