Melissa Foster - Chasing Amanda

“She made these, too. They represent passages from her own Bible. See her writing, here?” she pointed to one of the papers. “She wrote her spells to keep the plants alive. See? She told me, once, that the flowers would live on forever, marking the Earth where she last stepped.” She walked around the room with her arms spread wide, a smile on her face. “She came here in the days before she died and danced. She danced all around the ground, then she blessed the seeds of these plants and told me to plant them all—every last one of them.” Tracey listened, spellbound. “So, I did as I was told, and a few days later, when Mummy died, they each came to life. Can you believe it?” she asked.

“It sounds like a fairy tale!” Tracey said, excited.

“The Lord keeps them for us, so we will always remember her, remember her spirit, remember to dance when the end is near. Remember that if God’s will is for you to be with Him, then that’s where you shall go, and you shall accept it.” She smiled, touching each plant as if they were precious gifts.

“But…you put your mom in a well? Isn’t that kind of…mean?” Tracey asked cautiously.

“It wasn’t mean at all, actually. That’s where she wanted to be. She chose this place. She told me exactly what to do with her body so the Lord would accept her, and I followed her wishes, and I hope you will do the same for me.” “Where did she go?” “She went into the water, into her burial place. She’s still in there.” A chill ran up Tracey’s spine.

“The well is so deep that even when I put my mummy in, I could barely hear her hit the water. It was as if she became a spirit before she actually landed.”

“I don’t know if I could do that,” Tracey said, stepping further away from the hole.

“It was what she wanted. It wasn’t a bad thing.” She put her hand on Tracey’s shoulder and bent down to look her in the eye. “Tracey, when someone is buried, they are put in the ground, right?”

Tracey nodded.

“Well, my mummy was put in the ground, too, only she has water which is better. She won’t have animals and bugs all over her. She’s just here, safe, with us. There’s no one to walk over her grave, no snow to make her bones cold. This is a good place, not a bad place. It’s what she wanted.”

“Oh,” Tracey said, although she still wasn’t sure she could ever put someone in a hole. “Were you with her when she....when she died?” she asked.

“Oh, yes, until the very end. I held her hand and sang to her.” She smiled, rubbed Tracey’s hand. “We prayed a lot, asking the Lord to accept her, to take care of her, and to watch over me. When she died, she was happy. She closed her eyes like she was sleeping and just didn’t wake up.” She stopped rubbing Tracey’s hand and held it in her own. “After she died, I prayed for her soul to be accepted by the Lord. I prayed that she would always be with me,” she covered her heart with her hand, “here, inside me, and I know she is. I can feel her. She’s beautiful.”

“You’re beautiful, too,” Tracey said, shyly.

Mummy reached out and took Tracey in her arms again, hugging her tightly against her, sharing her strength with her. The embrace felt good to Tracey, it felt right. She hugged her back.

Twenty Three

Molly ran much further than she’d anticipated, rounding out the three-mile loop down Barnesville Road, and heading toward the Country Store, giving a quick wave to the passing cars that veered to the opposite lane to give her room to run. The lack of a shoulder on the rural roads was hazardous, and Molly appreciated the kindness of the drivers. She picked up her pace as she ran down the final hill, passing in front of the Country Store, where Edie stood in the window wearing a strange look of dismay. The Boyds Boys sat out front.

“Hey, guys!” Molly yelled, waving.

Harley turned away, Mac looked down, and Joe began to lift his arm, then, with a quick nudge from Mac, he lowered it and looked down at his feet. Molly was becoming increasingly annoyed by their behavior and began to wonder if there was more to their reputations than met the eye. Her run came to a halt at the bottom of the road where fire trucks and police vehicles blocked the entrance to the Perkinson driveway and lined the road near the lake. The grassy areas were roped off. Yellow tape, announcing, Police Area Do Not Cross, hung from the thick ropes. Molly ran across the road and sidled up to one of the officers wearing not only his uniform but an orange traffic vest as well. He looked to be about Molly’s age, dark hair, graying at the temples, and a pinched face.

“Hi,” she said, waiting for him to acknowledge her.

He looked over and down, his blue eyes settling on her, annoyed. “Ma’am,” he said. His mouth quickly formed a fine line across his face. “Excuse me, but can you tell me what’s going on?” “We’ve got divers in the lake, ma’am.” A helicopter hovered overhead. “For what?” she asked. Molly instantly thought of Hannah kneeling over the ground in the woods. “Looking for a missing party, ma’am,” he said, sternly. “Does this have to do with the little girl who is missing, Tracey Porter?” “I can’t say, ma’am. We’re checking the lake.” “So you think she’s in there?” Molly crunched her face, as if protecting herself from hearing the news. “Just doing our jobs, ma’am.” “The helicopter?” she asked. “Is that part of the investigation as well?” “Yes, ma’am. It has heat-seeking devices. They can track bodies in the water.” He planted his hands on his hips, rigid.

Molly realized how annoying it must be for him to answer questions like hers over and over. “Thank you,” she said and began jogging toward her car. She turned on her heels and said, “Sir?” He reluctantly turned toward her. “How long does something like this take?” “Not sure, ma’am. Could take a full day or even two depending on what they do or don’t find.” “Thank you again,” she said and continued jogging.

Molly settled into the van and let her head fall into her hands. Tears burst forward as if they had been trapped behind a dam that had suddenly cracked. Her body shook with sobs. How could this be happening again? she wondered. She pounded on the dashboard, “She’s not dead,” she said to the rearview mirror. “I would know. I would have felt it.”

Molly sat in her car for hours, watching the divers come up empty handed, the helicopter hover and dip, spraying water like scattering bugs. A crowd of spectators had gathered at different points around the lake. Finally, at around five P.M., the divers were out of the water, the helicopter had flown off to the south, and Molly made her way back to the officer with the graying temples and the traffic vest. She tapped him on the back, noting his surprised look when his eyes settled on her once again. “Well?” she asked. “Ma’am? You’re still here?” “Yes. Did they find her?” “No, ma’am, they didn’t.” Molly’s heart skipped a beat of hope, and she was sure she saw a faint smile in the officer’s eyes. “For sure?” she asked cautiously. “For sure,” he nodded, laying his hand on her shoulder, heavy, reassuring. “She’s not here, ma’am. That much we know.” Molly turned away without a word. She didn’t realize she was crying until she climbed back into the van and looked in the mirror.

Molly arrived to a darkened home, Cole’s car in the driveway. She called to him when she opened the front door, the dogs vied for her attention. Soft music sifted through the quiet. She followed the sound to the candlelit dining room. Molly put her backpack down and headed upstairs, “Cole?”

No response.

The shower ran in the bedroom, and Molly hurried in and gathered a black sweater, jeans, and clean undergarments, then raced into Erik’s shower to rinse off. A few minutes later she was greeted at the bottom of the stairs by Cole, who held a glass of White Zinfandel in one hand, extending the other toward her.