Saving Maggy Grace

Two

I remember sitting at my desk one afternoon working on something that had some value to it while my secretary, Edith, paced around my office talking on and on.

“What was that?” I raised my head.

She sighed, “You haven’t been listening to a thing I’ve said.”

“Sorry,” I shrugged.

“George Spieling who lives down on Baker lost custody of his little girl. Marie Stanfoerd called Child Services on him because she suspected that he was beating her.

“What’s going to happen to her?” I asked, suddenly interested and remembering the little girl who lost her kitten one year ago.

“I ‘spose she’ll go into the system - poor girl.”

"Hmm"

That was all that was said on the subject that day.

Late that night I was buried in my work. I sat on the couch in the middle of the living room. My work was scattered across a small coffee table in some form of organized chaos. As I tossed another file on to the table a rustling sound from outside of the window interrupted me from my thoughts. Though it startled me, I ignored it. I was used to small animals roaming around in the brush around my home.

When I heard the rustling again I became suspicious. Whatever was out there was bigger than the occasional rabbit or raccoon.

I stood from where I sat on the couch and grabbed the fire iron that was propped against the grand fire place.

As I crept closer to the window I thought that I could hear a faint sniffing. Whatever was outside of my window wasn't a "what" at all, it was a "who".

I crept from the living room into the front room and out the front door.

"Hello?" I called. There was no response, "Hello?"

A grey cat jumped from the bushes and ran into the warm house. I held my hand to my chest as I recovered from the scare.

I turned to go back inside, thinking that that pesky cat was all I was worried about when I heard more sniffs coming from the bushes.

Fire iron in hand, I stepped over to the small bush. When I separated the branches I could see the outline of a young girl in the dim light coming through the window.

It had only been a year since I last saw her, but she had changed so much. I hardly recognized her until she spoke to me. That smooth West Virginian accent that suited her so well was the only thing that I could hear over the crickets.

"Mr. Worley, sir, you've got to help me."

I helped her out of the bushes and led her into my front room.

"Ms. Spieling, what were you thinking hiding out in my bushes?"

She looked down at her feet and she breathed heavily, "Mr. Worley, they’re coming tomorrow, sir, you can't let them take me! Jane Richardson in the eighth grade told me that they're gonna put me in the system. She said the system is like a dog pound but for kids and if someone don't take me in by a certain time they'll put me down! Mr. Worley, she said she knew a kid in the system and he got adopted by witches!  Daddy always said that you're the most powerful man in town, sir, you can't let them take me!"

“Child, I know Mr. Richardson personally and I can tell you that nothing that comes out of his daughter’s mouth is the truth.”

“But Mr. Worley,” small tears streaked her dirt stained cheeks, “I don’t wanna go into the system. I wanna stay here, in Matoka! I don’t wanna leave – I can’t leave, Mr. Worley, they need me.”