COUNTRY GIRLS - CHAPTER ONE

Rise Above the Ashes

Twenty-five Years ago

This story begins in the deepest of darkness, as so many stories do. It is only from the darkness that we strive to see the light. That we overcome what can’t be overcome. That we stand after we have fallen, and we rise above the ashes.

This night was as it was every night, pitch black. The only light for miles was the glowing, red blaze of flames ferociously devouring a small farm-house in the midst of an open and seemingly endless field of corn.  These flames were matched only by the frantic flashing of lights which stemmed from the fire truck. It had arrived shortly after the fire had reached the ceiling and spread to the roof. By then, neighbors had been able to see the crimson glares in spite of the nearly hundred acres which separated their houses from the one going up in flames.

It wasn’t long before rescue workers were rushing around trying to save what was left of the home. They wouldn’t succeed.

At the center of devastation and chaos, there I stood.  A young girl, no older than seven. I was dressed in a flannel nightgown which came all the way down to my bare toes. The pattern had been pink and purple hearts, but it no longer showed through the layers of ash and dust that had covered my entire body. My long blonde hair was a tangled mess, and the ends kept getting thrown in the wind and would come flailing back only to whip me across my face.

In my arms I held a small bundle. A baby. I clung to her tighter than one might cling to a life-preserver while floating out at sea, as if I knew that this baby, my sister and the youngest of us three, was a sign of life. The beginning of life. Life that was still meant to be lived. I knew I had to make sure of that. 

I stood there watching the fire fighters; I held my breath as I saw one of the men coming out of the house. I had been inside when the fire started, but as the flames grew, I had made a run for it. I hadn’t had a single thought. It was like something inside of me flipped a switch and I was on autopilot. Maybe it was panic, maybe it was survival instinct, I didn’t know. I did know that while I was holding the baby, our sister was still inside. As were our parents. I had little reason to believe that my sister and mother would make it out alive, and secretly hoped that my father wouldn’t.

As I stood there frozen, watching the fireman who had come out of the house cradling something small in his arms, I was afraid to look at what it was, or who it was, he was holding.  The fear of having hope only to be wrong was so debilitating that I couldn’t not look either. I simply couldn’t move. 

I heard the man yelling back and forth to the paramedics who had pulled up in their ambulance just seconds before.  For a few moments, it seemed that time stood still. Everything appeared to move in slow motion and the deafening sounds of the sirens and crackling fire had ceased to exist all together.  Then I saw my sister’s small fist swing through the air and I heard the sound of her voice as she was screaming ‘No!’ at the men working to save her life.

Finally, I released the breath I had been holding in. The world began to spin again and the silence was broken. The three of us had lived.  We had found our way through the darkness. We had survived the fire, and we would rise from the ashes. Somehow. 

***

Soon after we arrived at the hospital, a woman showed up. She was older than my mother and reminded me of one of my teachers. She had short, curly, black hair, big brown eyes and a warm smile which she greeted me with as she introduced herself as Miss Margo, the social worker. I had heard of social workers and foster care and assumed that our future would entail something of the sort. I had also heard from a boy at school that they didn’t always keep siblings together in these types of situations. 

The idea of being separated from my sisters was more terrifying to me than facing that fire had been.  My sister, Eli, was still being treated for the burns she had suffered while being stuck in the house, meanwhile Baby Evey had been brought to the nursery for observation and rest. I had seen the doctor, but had been cleared of any fire related injuries immediately and had been shown to the waiting area where nurses kept coming by to check on me. Now that Miss Margo was here, I assumed that would stop.  She sat down with me and started asking me about the fire.

I don’t come from a family that does a lot of talking, especially to strangers, so I didn’t find myself having very much to say. To try and earn my trust, Miss Margo decided to take me down to the cafeteria for some chocolate pudding.  I had three cups and we sat there in silence the entire time I ate. When I finally decided to speak, it was only to ask about my sisters.  Miss Margo assured me they would be fine and proceeded to ask me more questions, which I proceeded not to answer. She finally caught my interest when she mentioned a man named Harry Wilson. A man she claimed was our grandfather. A man I had been told was dead.

“Harry is dead. He died the same time as my Grandma. I remember because I heard my mama talkin’ on the phone one night. She said her mama had died, so Harry was dead to her, too. And she didn’t ever call him our grandpa. She jus’ called him, Harry. I don’t think she liked him very much.”

Miss Margo looked at me for a moment. I think I caught her off guard by stringing together so many sentences at once. Until then, my vocabulary had been very limited. When she was able to re-collect her thoughts she said, “Emma, Harry’s not dead. I spoke to him before I arrived at the hospital. He’s on his way here from Angie, right now.”

She paused and looked down at her hands which she kept folded on the table. She appeared to be contemplating whether or not to tell me more. I guess she decided that in light of what I had just experienced there wasn’t much left I wasn’t grown up enough for.

“The way I understand it, your mama and her daddy had a fallin’ out many years ago, but I promise you, he loved your mama very much. Just like he loves you girls.”

 I sat there staring at my empty pudding cups, not sure what to make of any of this. “Can I go see Eli now?”

Miss Margo reached across the table and held out her hand. “Yes, I think that’s exactly what we should do.”

A few days passed before I actually saw Harry. Either he had decided to walk there from Angie, or he had gone into hiding once he arrived, much like he had been throughout the years we had been alive. I could only assume that facing us was going to be as hard for him as it was for us, and I silently thanked him for waiting as long as he did.

They allowed me to stay in the room with Eli while she healed. Every afternoon they would bring Evey in to see us. Miss Margo came by every day too, only to find that Eli was even less chatty than I was. Looking back, I realize Miss Margo was sincerely trying to help us, while we were doing nothing but creating more challenges for her. I suppose at the time we had been wounded and scarred in a way that led us to stick together and trust no one. We would remain true to that for many years after.

Harry Wilson was a man in his fifties. He was a working man who had spent the majority of his days working outdoors around dirt and livestock. His hair had begun to gray and his face was unshaven. I could tell by watching him with Miss Margo that he was much like us in the way of words. He had a liking for keeping things simple.

Harry looked rough around the edges, but in his eyes, I recognized the same kind of hurt I saw when I looked in the mirror. Almost instantly, I felt at home with him. A wave of relief rushed over me as I realized that my sisters and I would be able to stay together and that we would be safe. Harry would take us. I was sure of it.

Down the hall from our room, I overheard Harry and Miss Margo deep in conversation.

“I can't take them.”

“You have to.  There's no one else.” 

Harry looked down at the ground and began to move his feet around in the dirt which had fallen from his boots. “I don't know the first thing about raising young girls.”

Miss Margo sighed. “Harry, you raised a daughter.  I'm sure you'll do just fine.”

Silently, I cheered for Miss Margo; she was a no-nonsense kind of lady, and I really appreciated that.

Still, Harry put up a fight, “That wasn't me.  That was all Evelyn...without her...I just don't think I can do it.”

Miss Margo’d clearly had enough. She was a compassionate woman, but apparently wasn’t above using guilt to get Harry to do what she knew would be best for all of us.

            “You have to be completely sure about this.  You are the only living relative these girls have.  If they don't go with you, they go into the system, and the truth is, they will most likely have to be separated to find homes. Harry, you've already lost your daughter...are you prepared to lose your grandchildren as well?”

 Harry looked at the ground again before glancing down the hall to where our room was. Miss Margo had won.

The ride back to Angie was long and we were all squeezed into the front seat of Harry’s old Chevy pick-up. Harry hadn’t said much since we had met. In fact, once Harry’d spoken with Miss Margo, we hadn’t really heard much from her either.

He had shown up the next day, as Eli was being cleared to leave the hospital. He’d picked up the one small bag we had and led the way to the parking lot.

Sitting in that pick-up truck with him, I wanted so badly to say something, but I was too shy. I just kept staring at Eli, willing her to open her mouth first. Finally, half way into our trip, she did.

“Are we going to live with you now?”

Without taking his eyes off the road, Harry responded, “It looks that way.”

I couldn’t take it anymore. “Do we get to stay on your farm?”

I’d heard stories from my mama about growing up there. She had talked about dogs, cows and horses. I had marveled at her stories, wishing I could be a part of them myself somehow, but my father had hated animals. He was a farmer himself, but all he had ever been interested in was cornfields.

“It's not a farm. Farms have chickens. There are no chickens.  It's a ranch, and yes, that's where we are all going to live.”

Eli’s eyes widened at the sound of his gruff voice. Other children her age might have been scared by Harry, but she was clearly intrigued by him.  Nothing much ever frightened Eli, although sometimes I wished it did.

“Did Mommy use to live there, too?”

Finally, Harry’s gaze shifted. He looked at the three of us, and when he answered, his voice softened. “Yes...she did.”

We drove the rest of the way much like it had been before we started talking - in silence.

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