A mute, foundling girl hides from her pursuers with the help of a reluctant recluse. The two of them have nothing in common except deep emotional scars. Who is she? How did she end up unconscious and scantily clothed on Evan's isolated property? Why...
During the remaining three days of my work week, Sophie and I fell into a comfortable routine where she would have dinner ready for me when I got home from work. We'd watch a little TV, play cards, and I would tuck her in early. She never wanted to stay up much past nine.
I convinced her to not get up with me in the mornings but couldn't stop her from working around the cabin. It never looked so clean. She even started in on the shed which made me nervous. I didn't want her wandering around outside and possibly be seen.
The week passed without further incident and the two of us looked forward to a long weekend.
After we finished dinner on Thursday night, she sat beside me on the sofa and presented me with a shopping list. At the top she had written electric blanket as if I needed reminding. Every morning she scolded me for letting the fire burn low. Next, she listed all the items needed to prepare a Thanksgiving meal.
"I have a conflict, Sophie. My schedule hasn't changed, and I'll be working Monday through Thursday as usual. That includes the holiday, next Thursday."
She pouted and wrote: Can you take off?
"I promised to work so my coworkers with families could have off. That was all put in place before I met you. We can celebrate Friday, the day after. I'll be home for the long weekend and can help you with the meal."
She thought about it before writing: Ok, but I wanted to do all the work.
On a separate line, looking like an afterthought, she wrote: For you, followed by a smiley face.
"That's sweet of you, but you know how I feel about you overdoing it."
She thought some more and wrote: I'll let you carve the turkey and clean up the mess I'm sure to make in our kitchen.
So, she considered it our kitchen. "Deal. We can go to the store in the morning."
Sophie latched on to my wrist and squeezed.
"Ow! What did I do?"
Fortunately, she had to let go of me to write: We go tomorrow after sundown?
She wouldn't look at me and played with the ends of her hair. "Are you still afraid you'll be seen?"
That got a nod out of her but no written explanation.
"I'll get started on chores first thing in the morning then."
She focused on me and mouthed, "Chores?"
"You complain about being cold now. Imagine what it'll be like when our stack of firewood runs out. I need to work on the woodpile and split more of those logs."
Sophie's face lit up. I'll stack the split logs. Then just as quickly her expression turned sad. I used to help Dad stack wood.
Taking advantage of the opening, I asked, "You want to talk about it?"
She shook her head and wrote: Not yet. She went back to playing with the ends of her hair.
"Soon, Sophie, okay?"
She ignored my question.
"Do you want to watch some TV before bedtime?"
Another headshake. She wrote: TV shows are too violent. They give me bad dreams.
I agreed. Most TV shows were violent, but they passed the time when there was nothing else to do on cold, dark nights.
Sophie pulled her legs up onto the sofa and leaned against the back rest. She gazed at me wearing an expression I thought was meant to charm me.
I immediately grew suspicious. "What now?"
She picked up her pad and wrote: Can we get a dog? Maybe a puppy?
The question blindsided me. "A dog? Where did you suddenly get that idea?"
Writing furiously, she turned her pad around to show me. A house is not a home without a dog. She ended the sentence with a smiley face and the next sentence added: Or in this case a CABIN is not a home without a dog.
My mind reeled trying to figure out what she really wanted and how I was supposed to answer. Was she lonely during the day? Did she lose a beloved pet as a child? "It wouldn't be fair for me to keep an animal given the long hours I'm away."
More furious writing. But I'm here even when you're not.
She persisted in her assumption that she would stay with me long term. I couldn't figure out why she didn't want to return to her own life. I cleared my throat. "You know what I'm going to ask next, right? What happens to the poor dog when you leave?"
She sighed and broke eye contact. I watched her, trying to figure out what was going on in her pretty head.
Neither of us said anything for some time, lost in our thoughts until she made me jump by grabbing my wrist. "Girl, you're going to give me a coronary!"
Sophie showed me her pad: Quit stalling. Can we get a dog or not?
Not, but instead, I said, "Maybe if you quit nagging me about it, I'll give it some thought."
She gave my wrist a celebratory squeeze.
"I didn't say yes. I said, I'd give it some thought."
She clamped down harder.
"Okay, okay, I'll give it serious thought. Now let go of me!"
She giggled, released me, and wrote. I'm going to my room to write in my journal.
Her room. She had staked her claim, and I was destined to sleep on the sofa as long as she stayed with me. It was torture on my back and neck.
She gave my wrist another quick squeeze and dashed away into her bedroom.
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Sophie continues to impose her will on Evan. Instead of indulging her, should he set stricter boundaries?
