Page 75 of Orphan Girl's Mountain Men

Dean's jaw tightens. "She’s got enough on her plate right now, trying to fathom out this whole thing with her parents’ messages. Better she’s not involved."

"She already is," I reply. "Her name’s on that document, Dean. And it was aboutherland. Sinclair's move today? It wasn't just pressure. It was a warning shot. What if he goes after her next? She's directly in the crosshairs—of course she needs to know."

Reed sighs. "Yeah, you're right, Lennon. She has to know. We need to tell her. We have no right to keep this from her, and in any case not knowing won’t help her in the long run, and could potentially be disastrous. On the other hand, she could probably do with just a couple of days of not having to worry about it while she sorts her shit out, and nothing’s likely to happen like straight away, anyway. Court stuff takes months."

Dean doesn't respond at first. Then finally, with a reluctant nod, he agrees. "Yeah, okay, we tell her. But let's give her some space to sort her shit out, as Reed puts it. A day or two can't hurt. Then we tell her. Agreed?"

I nod my agreement, not feeling the need to add anything else.

Dean looks between us, something hardening in his expression again. "Whatever happens though… we keep her safe. No matter what."

We all agree.

Nods from Reed and me. We all know what it's like to fight for something, and this time, we all realize we've got something worth fighting for.

Something's coming, I can feel it.

And whatever is coming… we'd better be ready for it.

CHAPTER 29

Hailey

Another beautiful June morning. The sun rises early now, as we head rapidly towards the longest day of the year. These early mornings are my favorite time of day. I am sitting on a wooden chair on my little veranda, drinking my first coffee of the day and enjoying the peace and tranquility of it all.

There's a very mild breeze from the south, warm, comforting, gently ruffling my hair and caressing my cheeks as if it was a delicate, lover's kiss. I can smell the scent of peonies and delphiniums from the flower bed below, and I can hear the buzz of insects as they go about their ever-urgent pollen-collecting duties.

Small wonder we have the expression 'busy as a bee'.

There's an occasional low 'quack' and a splash as the local mallard ducks dabble for their food in the calm waters of the lake. In the distance, ever present, is the gentle, susurration of the wind in the trees—a sound that on a day like this with such a gentle breeze, could easily lull you to sleep.

On the table beside me lies an envelope, slightly yellow with age.

Well done munchkin, you found it!

A part of me—indeed most of me—wants to tear it open, to devour its contents, to feel closer to my long-gone mom and dad, even for a few, short moments. But another, smaller part of me is frightened of what I might read, and worse, of how I will cope.

I sigh deeply and mentally shake myself. This is no good. I've delayed it all through yesterday, promising myself I'd open it 'tomorrow when I have time'. Well, now it is tomorrow, and I've run out of excuses. I drain my coffee, pick up the envelope, and slide my finger under its lip. The envelope comes open easily, revealing several pages of the same neat and attractive handwriting that I had already come to recognize as belonging to Mom.

I open the letter and I begin to read.

Well done munchkin, you found it.

Just six words—and already I'm crying.

We always knew you'd find your way here. And when you did, you'd be ready.

My throat tightens. I can almost hear her voice, talking so directly to me across the twenty years or so since she sat down—perhaps on this very spot on the veranda—to write this letter to me. It's like she's right here beside me. A ghost at my shoulder, but it's not a frightening presence that I feel—it's a loving one. Reassuring. Making me feel safe. I read on.

There's so much I need to tell you, but I have so little time. Tomorrow we leave for the city, and then it's off to Peru for another six weeks with the Amahuaca tribe. There's so few of them left, after all the devastating logging that's gone on in the area. It's terribly important that we learn as much about their culture and lifestyle as we can, whilst there's still time. Yourdaddy's coming with me this time, so we'll be dropping you off with Aunty May and Uncle Roger like before. We don't like to leave you behind my darling, but the Peruvian rainforest is no place for a four-year-old—even a very grown-up one like you—and this trip is so very important. So you see, my darling, we have to go.

That's Mom—always excited and passionate about her work. And she shared that passion with her husband—my father—even though he was a lawyer and not a trained anthropologist. Although to be honest, he loved her so much that I think he would have followed her to the ends of the Earth even if he didn't share a passion for her work.

The first thing I need to tell you is about here—about the True Heart Lodge. As I am sure you will know by now, Daddy and me came to this area because of my work as an anthropologist. The San Juan County area is very famous historically as being the home of the Ute. I'd been given a grant to study and document their art, with a particular reference to the symbols they used. Well, your daddy and I came here and, well… we fell in love. We fell in love with the mountains and the lakes, we fell in love with the bears and the coyotes and the foxes and the deer, we fell in love with the Ute tribe and their closeness to and concern for the land… and we fell in love with each other too.

Now I really am crying. How wonderful that time must have been for them, how incredible it must have been to be able to spend time together up here in the mountains, studying the Ute, whilst living a simple but fulfilling life surrounded by nature.

We made friends with many of the Ute, and we got very close to them over time. We ended up coming back, year after year, and then of course you were born, and we started to take you with us too. Perhaps you remember… I hope you do.

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