Lauraleigh's Secret Read online

  As I headed back upstairs to check again, I wondered if she had broken her promise to Sister Daphne and gone to the forest alone. I hoped not, but I didn’t know what else to think. I couldn’t find her anywhere. Then, just as I passed the girl’s bathroom a few doors down from her room, I thought I heard something. When I stepped inside, I spotted Anna curled up in a corner, crying.

  “Anna!” I exclaimed, and moved toward her. “What’s wrong? I’ve been searching all over for you.” Crouching down on the floor to be eye level with her, I asked again, “Why are you so sad? Can I help?”

  Upon seeing me enter, Anna Sophia had scooted backward until the wall stopped her. When I asked her to tell me what had upset her, she drew her knees to her chin and crossed her arms in front of her, her forearms resting on her knees. Then, she buried her face inside the circle of her arms, leaving only the top of her head and a mass of unruly curls visible to me.

  I never liked it when I was upset and someone tried to pressure me into telling them why, so I didn’t ask again. I just sat quietly beside her and let her cry. After a few minutes, her sobs slowed, and then stopped. When she lifted her head, she still wouldn’t look at me, but I could see silent tears still trickling down her face. It broke my heart to see her so sad.

  Finally, she turned and looked at me with an anguished expression. Speaking so softly I could barely hear her, she said, “Ma … mama bear … she’s … gone.” Through a hiccupping sob, she whispered, “She … dis... disappeared.” Curiosity got the best of me, as I prepared to hear the bear story the other kids so often gossiped about behind Anna’s back.

  At this time, Anna had lived at the orphanage not quite two months. Remarkably, in her short time with us, she had gained sufficient enough command of French to tell stories about her life to anyone willing to listen. She mostly told elaborate tales about her Uncle Misha finding her as an infant wrapped in furs inside the cave of a mother grizzly and her cubs.

  I had yet to hear these stories directly from Anna, but I had overheard the kids talking about her wild imagination and made-up tales. Those children who were kind listened and said nothing, while the less charitable ones teased her. Sister Constance and Sister Daphne, each in their own way, encouraged Anna not to fabricate stories, only to find themselves repeatedly admonishing her for telling them anyway.

  It wasn’t until after Anna’s 13th birthday, when she came into her powers as a witch, that I learned she had not made up a single one of her stories. Anna really had spent her first weeks nestled against bear cubs in a cave, and she grew up playing with them, considering them her siblings as they all rode across the tundra on Mama Bear’s back. It wasn’t a wild imagination that set Anna apart from the other orphans.

  Anna had inherited a formidable legacy as the daughter of two powerful magical beings and the granddaughter of one of the most infamous witches in Russian history. In the world of immortals, this alone would distinguish her, but that’s not what makes Anna so exceptional. Nor is it her extraordinary powers which she continues to harness and master; one day, just the sound of her name will command respect everywhere. What makes Anna unique — different from both immortals and mortals — is how she uses her compassionate and loving heart to guide her magic as she strives to make the world a kinder, better place. It is Anna’s heart that sets her apart from others, not her imagination or her legacy.

  But at the time, when I first sat with Anna in the bathroom and listened to her cry, I knew none of this. I certainly did not know it when, expecting to hear the made-up story of a mother grizzly, I asked, “Who’s Mama Bear, Anna?”

  Chapter 5

  “She’s… she’s… Uncle Misha made her for me before I left,” Anna said, trying hard not to cry all over again. “To help me not feel so—” A look of confusion crossed her face, and I could tell she was trying to find the right word in French.

  “Lonely?” I offered. “To help you not feel so lonely here? Solitaire?” I said, repeating the French word.

  “Yes, yes! Not feel… solitaire… not feel lonely!” Anna smiled briefly before her tears began again in earnest. “But I lost her. I lost her!” She wailed these last words as her shoulders shook with the agony of her heartbreak.

  Only then did I understand Anna meant the stuffed bear she carried with her everywhere, not a real grizzly.

  “Anna,” I said. “Take a breath — a really deep one, okay?” I wanted her to calm down so she could give me more information. “Do you remember the last time you saw Mama Bear?”

  Anna nodded and tried hard to control her tears. “This morning when… when I woke up. I came right here to the bathroom and then went back to my room and got dressed. But when I started making my bed, I realized she wasn’t there!”

  Before she burst into another round of gut-wrenching tears, I said, “Wait. You’re saying you saw Mama Bear when you woke up, but not a few minutes later?”

  Anna nodded, tears pooling in her eyes.

  It didn’t sound to me like Anna had lost her bear. It sounded like someone had played a mean trick on her. Kids in the orphanage were rarely outright mean to one another, but like kids everywhere, they certainly had their moments.

  “Anna,” I stated firmly, “I’ll find your bear.” I gave her a reassuring smile as she looked at me in surprise. “I will. I promise you.”

  “How? How will you do that?”

  “Well, I have an idea, but I need you to do something first.” When I saw her look at me curiously, I said, “You need to wash away your tears and put on a happy face, so we can go to breakfast.”

  “But I don’t feel happy,” she said, practically bursting with the angst of it all. “I don’t want to eat.”

  “I know you don’t, but for a little while, I need you to pretend. You understand the word ‘pretend?’” When she nodded, I said, “Good, because at breakfast you need to pretend you feel just fine. It’s important that when all the other kids see you, they don’t think anything has upset you today. Nothing at all. Can you do that?”

  Anna sat there quietly. Then, without saying a word, she gave me a curt nod before walking over to the sink and splashing her face with cold water. With a determined look, she took my hand, and together we walked to the dining hall.

  Although Anna’s eyes still looked red and swollen, the way eyes they do after a hard cry, once we got there she pasted a smile on her face and did her best to act as if nothing unusual or upsetting had happened that morning.

  Over the years, I have often observed Anna display emotional courage, but it is this moment I remember most clearly. It was such an amazing thing for a broken-hearted little girl to be able to do.

  Anna found a place to sit at her assigned table, and I tried to observe the reactions of the girls around her. I had lived on the 5-10 year old’s wing for many years. I knew the best and worst about all the girls at Anna’s table, and I had a sneaking suspicion I’d figure out which one, or ones, had taken the bear by watching them watch her. Not surprisingly, it didn’t take me long at all to develop a theory about where I might find Mama Bear.

  After breakfast, I knocked on Murielle Bjorkman’s door. One year younger than me, she had lived two doors down from me for years. Although we had spent a fair amount of time around each other, I never thought of Murielle as a friend. I didn’t know much about her life before she came to the orphanage, but from the time Murielle arrived, it didn’t take much to figure out she wasn’t going to be one of the nicer girls on the wing. So, when I saw her staring intently at Anna, obviously waiting for her to cry in front of everyone, I had little doubt that she had taken the bear.

  Murielle answered the door, and her eyes widened in surprise. Cracking the door only wide enough for me to see her face, she narrowed her eyes at me in suspicion.

  Casually, as if this was nothing more than a friendly visit, I said, “Hey, Murielle. How’s it going? Can I come in?” In all our years on the same floor, I had never stopped by for a social visit.

  “Oh, hey, Lauraleigh. Uh, it’s really not a good time, sorry. I’m… you know, busy. Studying.” Her eyes flit briefly behind her, guilt and fear replacing her usual, detached expression. This told me all I needed to know. Pushing the door open, I strode past her and into the room. I immediately spotted Mama Bear on her bed.

  “It was just a joke, Lauraleigh,” Murielle said, but her voice shook, which surprised me. She generally made it a point to sound bored with everything. She surprised me even more when, verging on panic, she pleaded with me, saying, “Please don’t get me in trouble. I’m not kidding, Lauraleigh; I can’t get into any more trouble.”

  I didn’t know anything about Murielle’s other troubles, but I did know if I alienated her over this, she would make life worse for Anna, not better. So, instead of accusing her or threatening to tell the Sisters, I sat on her bed and asked why taking Anna’s bear seemed funny to her. I don’t know what I expected, but it sure didn’t involve listening to Murielle cry for several minutes before telling me she felt awful about having done it, which is exactly what happened.

  After Murielle’s heartfelt outburst, we both sat quietly for a few minutes. Then, just like that, she handed me the bear. Wiping her nose on the sleeve of her sweater and averting her eyes, she asked if I would give it to Anna. “Please? And tell her… you know, that I’m sorry.” She glanced up at me.

  “How about if I go with you, and you return it?” I suggested. I knew she was hoping I would do it for her, but it seemed only right for her to give it back.

  She started to say something, and then changed her mind. Grabbing the bear off my lap, she marched toward the door. “Let’s go,” she said, and without another word, headed down the hall to Anna’s room.

  When Anna saw the bear in Murielle’s arms, she threw her arms around her and thanked her so many times Murielle finally broke into nervous laughter. “I stole her from you, Anna. You shouldn’t thank me.”

  “I know this. I know this,” Anna said, giving her another hug. “But you brought her back to me.”

  An uncharacteristic, though not unfriendly, smile slowly formed in the corners of Murielle’s mouth as she studied Anna. “You are one strange girl, Anna Sophia,” she said. Taking a breath, she glanced my way before continuing. “I’m sorry I took your bear. I’m really sorry.” Before Anna could respond, Murielle added, “And, well… Thanks for not being mad at me.”

  Anna threw her arms around Murielle one more time, hugging her with all her might. Murielle caught me watching them and rolled her eyes, but she didn’t make any effort to keep Anna from hanging on.

  Once Anna finally let go, Murielle headed for the door.

  “Bye, Anna and Bear,” she said as she stepped into the hallway. With a soft laugh, she hurried away. I was certain that Murielle wouldn’t give Anna any more problems. As it turned out, she later became one of Anna’s biggest defenders and stood up for her more than once as the year went on.

  “See?” I said, turning back to Anna. “Told you I’d find her.”

  She stood clutching Mama Bear to her chest, her face radiating happiness.

  Chapter 6

  After recovering Mama Bear for Anna, it didn’t take long for everyone to start teasing me about my “shadow.” I imagine it did appear this way since Anna and I seemed to find all sorts of ways to spend every second of our free time together. We went for long walks around the orphanage — with permission, of course — and we studied together on the weekends. Often, we just stayed in my room, and I listened to her stories. Anna would regale me with tales about growing up in an isolated part of Siberia with her Uncle Misha and, of course, Mama Bear and her cubs. Never once did I think of her stories as anything other than wonderfully creative reflections of her clever imagination. I feel a bit ashamed of that now, even though I had no way of knowing each one of those stories painted a real picture of Anna’s life before she came to the orphanage.

  Soon, Anna and I settled into a lovely routine where nothing out of the ordinary seemed to occur. She became increasingly more fluent in French, and since I had become the sole recipient of her stories, the other kids no longer had any reason to tease her. If they did, Murielle quickly came to her defense and put an end to it.

  When I think back on everything now, it seems like the series of events which followed only occurred because things with Anna had become so calm. If there had been any disturbance, I never would have raised my hand in Sister Elizabeth’s English class and volunteered to enter a city-wide contest sponsored by the Department of Tourism. Entering that contest changed my life dramatically. Not to the extent that Anna coming into her powers as a witch did, but then, nothing will ever impact my life to that degree. Still, entering the contest will forever remain a close second — although not in a good way. Before I tell you about the contest, though, I first need to tell you about Anna turning 13.

  Her birthday occurred only a few days before I graduated from high school. By this time, it had been seven years since Anna and I had become inseparable. “Glued at the hip,” people affectionately said of us. Our closeness astounded even me, as did how fiercely protective of her I became and still remain today.

  As the spring of my senior year wore on, the reality of my impending high school graduation began to weigh on my mind a great deal. Increasingly, I found myself worrying about not only my high school graduation but also my coinciding departure from the orphanage.

  It sometimes surprises people that once we turn 18 we must leave the orphanage, but that’s just the way things are done. Once of age, each orphan receives from the Board of Directors a sum of money they’ve kept in a special fund for us. We all have the choice to use the money to get an apartment while looking for work, to pursue more schooling, or, in my case, to take a gap year and travel. With enough money set aside for my return, the Directors approved the plan Sister Daphne and I had spent a great deal of time developing. However, as my graduation day drew closer, I began to have second thoughts and agonized over my decision to leave Anna and pursue travel.

  It’s no secret most orphans struggle with issues surrounding separation and abandonment. To think I might cause Anna to re-experience the pain she had struggled so hard to overcome when first separated from her Uncle Misha filled me with terrible guilt. Yet we could neither stop time nor hurry it, no matter how badly we wished otherwise. (Later, I discovered that one of Anna’s powers did involve the ability to stop time, though only for minutes, not years. Even this couldn’t have bridged the gap between my graduation and hers.)

  With graduation looming ahead, I tormented myself with indecision about whether to stay or go, spending sleepless nights weighing the potential outcome of either choice. Still conflicted, I could not find resolution.

  As it turned out, though, the decision became quite easy to make. Once Anna turned thirteen, there was only one option: stay. Understanding the immensity of Anna inheriting powers as a witch, along with the danger she would face navigating the sometimes violent and often frightening worlds of magic, there was no way I could leave her. She needed me; I simply could not go.

  Over the past two years, I have watched dark forces attempt to destroy Anna. I’ve also observed Anna, in a passionate effort to rid the world of evil, nearly destroy herself. Both of these scenarios have let me know I made the right decision; it’s one I have never second-guessed.

  For the record, I’m not some sort of martyr who sacrificed everything to do something I didn’t want to do. Not at all. For one thing, I’ve only postponed my gap trip; I haven’t sacrificed it. For another, I wanted to travel, and I’ve had ample opportunity to do just that. In the past two years, Anna and I have been to Italy, Russia, the remotest corners of both the Canadian and Siberian wilderness, and multiple places in between. It’s just that, instead of picnicking on a beach in Southern France or trekking in Nepal like I dreamed of, my travels led me to very different destinations.

  Different doesn’t imply bad. I mean, not many people can say they’ve flown on the back of a nine-headed dragon with as many personalities as heads — not to mention one with obsidian-crystal claws more beautiful than any gem I’ve ever seen. True, I did wind up in the middle of a forest where I became a target for the Wendigo — a flesh-eating creature so evil and terrifying he’d send any monster Magnus Chase confronted fleeing in absolute terror.

  True, too, somewhere in Siberia’s most remote corner, Anna’s grandmother Baba Yaga nearly turned me into her dinner. As I learned in the most hideous of ways, the Wendigo has an indiscriminate appetite regarding the flesh he wants to conquer and consume. And as for Baba Yaga, she prefers children. While I didn’t think of myself as a child at the time, I clearly had not yet become an adult. To my horror, Baba Yaga didn’t seem to find me the least bit too old to serve as the main ingredient in her evening stew.

  I’ll admit, remembering this does make me shudder. The Baba Yaga trip did not exactly rival my dreams of gap year traveling. However, I did view the most exquisite mountains and lakes on that adventure that I’ve ever seen. For every dark moment, there was another one filled with light and beauty, which makes it impossible for me to complain.

  The fact is I wouldn’t trade any part of the last two years if it meant I wouldn’t have gotten to meet Anna’s dragon-uncle Chudo, along with all his other heads: Yudo, Budo, Rudo, Trudo, Sudo, Gudo, Hudo… and, of course, Fred — my favorite next to Chudo himself.

  All the moments of darkness and terror that still keep me up at night can’t begin to compare to the times when I experienced great beauty, love and kindness, unlike any I knew existed in either this physical realm, or even the magical realm, for that matter.