Before She Was Found - Heather Gudenkauf Page 0,69
on its side. I peer over the edge and an animal, a mouse or ground squirrel, blinks back at me, then scurries away. Violet’s not here, either.
The third car sits back away from the others and is nearly swallowed up by the tall grass that has grown up around it, nearly concealing the faded, flaking paint that spells out Primrose Sugar. The area around the side door seems undisturbed but I decide to check, anyway. I wade through the grass, its stalks scratching at my chin. Unlike the other boxcars, the door to this one is only open a bit.
The tall grass blocks the sun from reaching the opening so I pull out my cell and shine its light through the narrow opening. Nothing. I’m about to move on to the next car when I hear a whimper.
“Violet?” I say, trying to see through the darkness. There’s no answer. I yank on the door, trying to open it so I can get inside, but it’s rusted in place.
The opening is only about six inches wide but if I turn sideways I might fit. I squeeze my upper body through the small opening and scan the far corners of the car with the light from my cell phone.
Sitting crouched in a corner is Violet. Her hand is clamped across her mouth as if trying to hold back a scream. “Violet, it’s Mom.” I try to force my way inside but the angle is all wrong and for a second I’m stuck. “Violet,” I say again. “It’s just me. Officer Grady isn’t here. What happened, sweetie? Why did you run away?”
She looks at me with eyes filled with fear but doesn’t speak. “I know you’re scared but I promise that I won’t let anyone hurt you. We’ll get this all cleared up and have you home in no time. I promise.”
Outside comes the sound of tires on gravel.
“He’s coming,” Violet whispers.
“Officer Grady?” I ask. “Is that who you are afraid of? I promise, Violet, I won’t let him hurt you.” But she’s not listening. Holding my breath and squeezing my stomach in as tightly as I can, I’m somehow able to wriggle inside the car, my jeans catching and tearing on the ragged, corroded edges of the door.
“Violet, it’s just me right now. It’s going to be okay.” I reach my hand out to her. Her skin is ice cold and she’s shivering. “Please tell me what’s going on. Why did you run away? Why did you come here?”
Using the light from my phone I scan the walls. Stenciled in a now grimy white are the words Primrose Sugar—Do Not Damage. The boxcar is surprisingly clean. There are no signs of any critters taking up residence here, as if someone has been tending to it. I wonder if the boxcar is some sort of clubhouse for Violet and her friends.
Violet is sitting on a blanket that I recognize as an old one of ours. There is a wooden pallet in a corner and atop it sits an empty mason jar with a several scraps of paper stuffed inside.
“Shut the door, shut the door.” She slaps my phone from my hand and it skitters across the floor. The car is plunged into shadows. “Shh, Mommy, he’ll hear.” The terror in her voice is unmistakable.
“Officer Grady?” I ask again, this time in a whisper. “Violet, I don’t understand.”
In the distance I hear a car door slam; next to me I feel Violet tremble. “Violet, come on, this is ridiculous.” In the distance the blare of sirens come closer and closer. I don’t think I’ll be able to get her out of here now. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”
With difficulty I climb out of the boxcar to find Officer Grady walking toward me.
“Your son told me you came this way. Any sign of her?” Officer Grady asks, looking over my shoulder toward the boxcar. Before answering I wait for the sound of sirens to fade but instead they only get louder.
“What did you do?” I ask.
“She just took off,” Officer Grady tries to explain. “She’s out of control, Beth. I called an ambulance for her own safety.”
“An ambulance?” I ask in disbelief. “But she’s not hurt,” I say before I realize what he’s getting at. “Oh, no.” I shake my head. “She’ll be fine. I just need a few minutes alone with her and she’ll relax. She just doesn’t understand what’s going on. She’s scared.”
“You found her?” Officer Grady begins to move toward the