Lauraleigh's Secret Read online

  “Well, since you asked…” Stella started, then took one look at my face and seemed to change her mind about drawing things out. “Okay, okay,” she said. “I’ll tell you what happened. Stop acting so grumpy!”

  After I apologized and gave her some lame excuse about being tired, Stella finally settled down. “Well,” she said, “rumor has it little Miss Spitfire ran away from the orphanage, and not just one time, but lots of times. I heard she has repeatedly found her way to the forest — all by herself!” When Stella saw my eyes widen, she added, “Oh, no need to worry, Lauraleigh. Apparently, the nuns haven’t lied to us our whole lives: the saints really do listen. I figure that little girl has had Sister Daphne praying to Saint Christopher about 50 times a day.”

  “I’m not following you at all, Stella.”

  She rolled her eyes. “You know, Saint Christopher, patron saint of lost things—”

  “I know Saint Christopher, Stella! What does he have to do with Anna?”

  “Oh,” she said, “just that someone always finds her and brings her back. This has to make Sister Daphne happy, right? I mean, not only does Spitfire get found every time, but now Sister Daphne can prove to us our prayers really do get answered.”

  Stella gave me her best Cheshire cat grin, dimples and all, before saying, “She might seem stranger than a pig wearing lipstick, Lauraleigh, but I gotta hand it to her. That little kid has some serious guts and spunk!”

  Guts and spunk, indeed. I couldn’t believe Anna had run away. Nobody ever ran away from the orphanage. Not to mention, how in the world had she found her way to the park? Granted, it was a beautiful place, with hundreds of acres of trees. The nuns often took us there for picnics or special nature lessons, but we always traveled by van. Nobody I knew had ever walked there.

  Not only that, how did Anna even know about the park? I couldn’t recall a single field trip there since she arrived.

  A few days later, while helping Sister Daphne clean up after our evening meal, I casually brought up the subject of Anna. Swiping down my end of the long table, I said, “I heard the new girl — you know, Anna Sophia — um… I heard she runs away.” I glanced at her quickly before looking away and adding, “I just wondered if it’s true.”

  Sister Daphne eyed me curiously and wiped her hands on the apron tied around her ample middle before responding. “May I ask why this interests you, Lauraleigh? I’m disheartened to think there’s gossip out there about any of you, much less someone so new to our home.”

  “Well, I didn’t actually hear gossip, Sister,” I clarified, not wanting anyone to get in trouble for talking about Anna. “I… I don’t know, I’m kind of intrigued by her, I guess, and I just asked around a little to see if anyone knew anything about her. Someone said they thought she ran away a lot.”

  Sister Daphne sighed and plunked herself down on the bench attached to the table. She motioned to the seat across from her, and I sat as well. She stared at me thoughtfully before speaking.

  “I would not say Anna ran away, Lauraleigh. I would say she felt a strong need to visit the forest, and—” she paused, carefully choosing her next words, “and that is exactly what she did.” Sister Daphne’s mouth twitched at the corners the tiniest bit before she added, “Without telling anyone.”

  I felt my eyebrows shoot up, but I didn’t say anything. Instead, I waited, hoping she would say more.

  “It certainly gave us cause for concern, but I can assure you we’ve come to an understanding. Anna no longer goes to the forest unsupervised or without our knowledge.” Looking upward and crossing herself, Sister Daphne emitted a heartfelt, “Praise be.”

  More than most people, Sister Daphne seemed prone to smiling. I had always loved the way her eyes disappeared into happy little wrinkles, the way she found something joyful about nearly every situation. But on that day, looking at me from her side of the table, she seemed uncharacteristically serious.

  “Lauraleigh,” she continued quietly, “you have always conducted yourself in the kindest of ways. We saw this in you from the first day you came to us after your parents’ tragic accident. Even at the age of five, burdened with sorrows a young girl should never know, you went out of your way to comfort every child you saw crying. And yet, I know you felt — and even now likely remember — the pain of those early days and nights without your beloved parents.”

  The compassion in her eyes almost made me cry because I did remember. I remembered everything. I have always believed that if Sister Daphne hadn’t showered me with endless amounts of loving kindness and displayed an infinite amount of patience for my bottomless well of tears, I would have died of a broken heart before reaching the age of six.

  It wasn’t like that with Sister Constance. Sisters Daphne and Constance had about much in common with one another as a cat and a bird. True, they were both nuns, but, shockingly, they were also sisters — real sisters. I found this nearly impossible to believe the entire time I grew up because they neither looked nor acted alike in any conceivable way.

  One only needed to look at Sister Daphne, with her round body and sweet face, to know she held the secrets of a thousand children who had entrusted their hearts and fears to her each time they fell into her outstretched arms. Sister Constance, on the other hand, didn’t really hug, which everyone thought was just fine, since her body seemed made up of hard edges and bony angles. She scared us into good behavior with little more than her stern face and her ever-present cane, which she used nearly as much for nudging someone into compliance as for steadying herself on uneven surfaces.

  I don’t mean to imply that Sister Constance treated us meanly. She never did. She simply took her responsibilities for us orphans very seriously and carried them out in a no-nonsense way.

  Sister Daphne took her responsibilities seriously, too, of course. She just showed it differently. If she could have, I’m quite sure she would have divided her day between baking the fresh apple dumplings none of us could resist and hugging each one of us until we knew for certain that, even though we didn’t have parents, someone loved us to the moon and back and always would.

  Thinking back on it now, I can see how it took both of them, with all of their differences, to keep the orphanage running as smoothly as it has for so many years. It’s unfortunate, but it took me growing up and spending time away from them to finally understand this.

  It also seems I have gotten sidetracked from my conversation with Sister Daphne in the dining hall. Forgive me, and let me continue sharing the rest of our talk that night.

  Chapter 3

  “I bring up those early days,” Sister Daphne said, “only because I suspect that, right now, Anna feels much the same way you did when you first arrived.” Reaching across the table, she clasped her hands around mine. “I know others see Anna as a happy and carefree little girl, but I think a great deal of the time she struggles with feeling terribly sad and lonely.”

  “She does,” I agreed. “I mean, she does appear happy. At least every time I’ve seen her, she’s looked that way.”

  “Well, as I suspect you already know, Anna came to us after most of her young life in a cabin in the wilderness with her Uncle Misha. She spent a great deal of time out of doors, with Misha guiding her in all things. I suspect she has never shared any feelings — happy or otherwise — with anyone but her beloved uncle. And, whether by instruction or instinct, despite her young age, Anna does seem to have figured out that people tend to accept others more readily when they appear happy rather than sad.”

  “Nobody likes a sad sack,” I said, quoting Sister Constance, who said this every time one of us kids looked sad or wore what she referred to as “a face that could sour milk.”

  “Yes, well, I suppose some truth exists in most phrases, even my sister’s pet ones. Though, for myself, I’ve always encouraged you children to express all your emotions, even the unhappy ones.”

  “That’s why we only go to you when we’re upset,” I blurted out. “We’d never tell Sister Con
stance anything!” The instant these words came out of my mouth, I felt my face grow hot, realizing I had just spoken unkindly about her sister. Backpedaling, I started to say, “I just meant—” but Sister Daphne interrupted before I could finish.

  “It’s perfectly fine, Lauraleigh,” she said, patting my hand to let me know I hadn’t committed a mortal sin. “I know my sister can seem a bit, well … a bit forbidding at times. However, I hope you kids know she worries about and loves each of you every bit as much as I do.” Her eyebrows furrowed in concern.

  I don’t think so! I thought but kept quiet, sensing her dismay.

  Over the years, I came to find that Sister Constance cared for us much like a gruff mother bear protecting her young cubs, and she looked every bit as scary as a bear doing it.

  “Yes, well,” Sister Daphne said, coughing delicately and steering us back to the subject of Anna. “As I said, Anna may appear quite cheerful, but I suspect she’s feeling the pain of separation not just from her beloved uncle, but also from the many aspects of nature she experienced in Siberia. Anna seems to have a powerful connection with nature, and I imagine living as we do must feel quite alien to her.”

  Sister Daphne paused to collect her thoughts, or perhaps to decide whether she should disclose any more than she already had. Finally, she looked at me and stated, “Anna said she had to go to the park, not because it reminded her of home — although the fact that it did pleased her immensely — but because she had to listen to the message the ancient trees had to tell her.”

  Hearing this, I felt like one of those cartoon characters with giant question marks on springs popping out of my eyes.

  With a slight shrug of her shoulders, Sister Daphne said, “I can’t really explain it any better than this, I’m afraid.”

  I was desperately curious, and questions danced on the tip of my tongue, but I sensed it wasn’t the right time to ask them. Instead, I asked, “How did Anna even know about the park in the first place? Or find it?”

  A strange look flickered across Sister Daphne’s face. “She … hmmm… Well, actually… Oh, dear me…”

  Sister Daphne was never one to stumble over her words like she was at this moment. She seemed to be struggling to find the right words to explain something — I couldn’t guess what. With a sigh of resignation, she finally said, “I don’t think I quite know how to say this, Lauraleigh, other than to tell it to you the same way Anna explained it to me. She said she knew about the park because the trees told her to come, and then they guided her there with the help of the moon. More specifically, with the help of her moon — a moon she described as always full and round and never a sliver like others see.”

  Shocked, I stared at Sister Daphne and wondered how to respond. I settled on a single nod and said, “Oh.” Then, fearing I sounded either disinterested or scared — and Sister Daphne would never want to scare me — I added, “Well … um… I guess that’s one way to find a place when you’re new to an area.”

  Sister Daphne titled her head back — I think trying to decide whether to laugh or just carry on with the conversation. She chose not to laugh, but she wanted to, I could tell. Instead, she looked at me thoughtfully and said, “Yes, I suppose so, Lauraleigh. I suppose so.” Apparently satisfied that I hadn’t freaked out yet, she proceeded to tell me more about Anna and the trees.

  “Anna explained that, when she is in the forest, the trees speak to her. One in particular helps her understand all the hurting parts of her heart. That’s exactly how she worded it: ‘the hurting parts of her heart.’”

  Sister Daphne sat quietly for a moment, either pondering the meaning of what she had just shared, or, more likely, monitoring my reaction to her unusual statements which would have sounded crazy coming from anyone else. For some reason, though they were surprising, they didn’t sound strange or unnerving to me.

  “I know the tree Anna refers to,” Sister Daphne said. “It’s a massive old oak just over the little bridge. This is the tree Anna says has helped her understand why she had to come here … and why she must stay.”

  A gentle smile tugged at the corners of Sister Daphne’s mouth. “Who’s to say, Lauraleigh? Perhaps this little girl hears things we can’t. None of us knows what possibilities exist within our world. Only God knows. Who can say a person has not received the holy gift of sight or sound from Him? Certainly not I.”

  With that, Sister Daphne patted my hand one last time before grasping the cross which rested just beneath her collarbone.

  “So!” she continued brightly, letting go of her cross and clasping her hands together. “Anna and I now have an arrangement. Together, we plan weekly outings to the forest, where I give her as much time as she needs with her beloved trees. The arrangement continues as long as she agrees not to go there on her own.”

  With fingers fluttering like five plump hummingbirds, Sister Daphne’s hand flew over her heart as she paled slightly and said, “I must say, I had nearly a dozen coronaries with her sneaking off like that.”

  I didn’t doubt that for a minute. Her role of “House Worrier” was well-established long before Anna arrived.

  “She agreed, right?” I figured she must have, but I didn’t know what else to say. I had never had such a grown-up conversation with an adult before.

  “She did, indeed,” Sister Daphne said, emphasizing her words with a firm nod. “And I’ve no doubt that Anna Sophia will honor her word.” She smiled at me like a proud mother hen who just successfully herded all her chicks into the safety of the chicken house.

  Thinking our conversation was over, I smiled back at Sister Daphne and started to rise from my seat. However, Sister Daphne raised her hand slightly, indicating that she wanted me to stay. So, I sat back down and waited to hear more.

  Chapter 4

  “I would like to ask you a question, Lauraleigh,” Sister Daphne said after a moment. Then, astonishing me once more, she added, “One in which your answers might help ease something weighing heavily upon my heart.”

  “Um, okay,” I said. “I hope I know the answer.” I couldn’t imagine how I could help Sister Daphne with something worrying her, because she knew more about everything than I did.

  “I’m sure you will, darling girl. It’s not a test I am giving you.” Sister Daphne smiled, making me feel somewhat reassured. “What I want to ask has to do with your early days here. I know many years have passed since that time, but I wondered if perhaps you can recall whether you wished for things we didn’t make available to you. Something we didn’t offer that might have comforted you.”

  “My parents,” I said without a second’s hesitation.

  A gentle look of understanding flickered across Sister Daphne’s face. “Of course,” she said softly. “But, other than your parents… Was there anything else that could have comforted you or made your transition here easier?”

  Unlike the first question, this one didn’t lead to an answer so readily. After some thought, I offered, “Maybe just … a friend. Not like a dorm friend; I mean, like … someone older. You know, like a big sister, or something. Someone who would have known what to do when I didn’t.” I looked away, remembering those painful days. “Everything was so confusing to me. Everything — right down to so many people eating meals together.”

  “Oh my!” Sister Daphne said in surprise. “Isn’t that something? In all my years here, it never occurred to me how strange communal dining would seem to a child used to sharing meals with only their family. How about that?”

  With great sincerity, Sister Daphne thanked me for providing her with an important insight, and hearing this encouraged me to say more. It was something I had never said out loud to anyone, even though now it seems like such an obvious thing.

  “More than anything,” I told her, “I didn’t want to be an orphan, and I for sure didn’t know how to be one. When I got a little older, maybe around the time I turned nine, I started wondering how I’d ever work out who I could be in the future when I was always wrestling
with the truth of who I had been in the past. Honestly, I still struggle with this sometimes. I know I’m only eleven and I don’t have to have it all figured out right now, but I think, maybe, if I’d had someone like a big sister helping me through all this stuff from the very beginning… I mean… I just think it might have made a difference.” I glanced at Sister Daphne.

  She didn’t respond. She just nodded and raised one eyebrow at me. After several seconds of her looking at me like that, I suddenly got it.

  “Wait. You want me to be that … for Anna?” I asked in surprise. “To be her big sister?”

  “Only if it seems right to you,” Sister Daphne said. “I would never ask you to accept such a responsibility if you didn’t feel comfortable with it.” She smiled at me innocently. She obviously knew me well enough to have assumed such a thing would feel natural to me.

  I felt strangely honored. It touched me deeply to know Sister Daphne wanted me to watch out for Anna — to protect her the way a big sister would.

  “It suits me fine,” I said. “Except, how? I mean, how would I do something like that? It’s not like I can walk up to her and offer big sister services or anything.”

  Sister Daphne chuckled. “No, I don’t suppose you could.” Standing up, she straightened her apron and grabbed her dishrag from the bucket. “However, I have no doubt, Lauraleigh, that you will puzzle out the how on your own. Where intent resides, my darling girl, opportunity always awaits.” She smiled at me again before getting back to scrubbing tables.

  She must have known it would all unfold in its own way, of course. In all the years I’ve known her, Sister Daphne has never gotten matters of the heart wrong. Never.

  In less than a week, the first opportunity presented itself.

  One morning, Anna didn’t show up for breakfast. Concerned, Sister Daphne sent me to check on her, which thrilled me, of course. I figured I’d find her in her room, dawdling or maybe playing a game, and we would have a few minutes alone to get acquainted before heading back downstairs. Only, I didn’t find Anna in her room or any other obvious place, like the lounge or courtyard.