An Unexpected Guest

[Note: This story contains implied references to possible child abuse. Nothing graphic, but take care of yourself!]

A gust of wind rushes down the chimney, making the fire flicker before flaring brighter. The little girl is huddled in front of the fireplace, wrapped in the maroon chenille blanket from the back of my couch. The logs, real ones gathered from my property, pop and hiss away any remaining moisture.

Trying to keep my movements light, I bustle around the kitchen, acting as if the child is nothing more than a niece or neighbor's kid. Just someone entrusted to my care while her parents run errands. The old fashioned, lime green kettle whistles on my stovetop and I quickly lift it off the dancing blue flame before my eardrums rupture. Setting the kettle on a trivet, I squeeze a copious amount of honey into the midnight blue, gold-star covered mug before tossing a bag of chamomile tea into it and covering it with turquoise silicone round to steep. On second thought, I glug a couple tablespoons of half and half into the starry mug, hoping it'll entice the child to drink. It worked for me when I was little, anyway.

Looking at the small, emaciated girl in front of the fireplace, my heart fractures. What is she doing out in a storm like this, with no coat and sneakers worn through with holes where her big toes push through to make room for her growing foot? How is it that, just half an hour ago, the only thing I worried about was bringing enough logs in from the shed to last until the blizzard lets up tomorrow afternoon? Now, my priority has shifted to making tea and a grilled cheese sandwich for an unknown child too traumatized to speak.

Something niggled at me as I approached the shed earlier. A small chirp at the base of my skull warning things weren’t as they ought to be. In a rush to fill my wheeled firewood cart and get it back to the mudroom before the storm ramped up, I blew off the feeling and barely registered the shed door cracked slightly ajar. Though the shed has electricity, enough daylight poured through the windows for me to see the wood pile lined neatly along the far wall. Pulling the cart behind me, a small sound, like a stifled cough, caught my attention as I neared the wood pile. I stopped, listening. Outside, the wind whistled through the trees and hard snow clicked off the windows.

It's probably just a rabbit, looking for a place to shelter through the storm, I soothed myself, though I knew it wasn’t true.

Again, I moved toward the wood and, again--a noise. This time, louder. A kind of gasp followed by a shuffle. My heart hammered in my ears and my throat went desert dry. I was, unquestionably, not alone. Taking a deep breath, I released my grip on the cart, squared my shoulders and called out, “Who’s here? I don’t want any trouble, but I’m not above making it if I have to.”

When no reply came by my silent count to five, I stepped to the side of the pile where the noises had come from.

The girl crouched low in the shadows, her long, matted hair covering her face. Her clothes were soaked and so caked with filth that I couldn’t make out the color of her sweatshirt. At my approach, she curled up and threw her hands over her head in the classic duck and cover position we’d been taught in elementary school. In hindsight, my first thought should have been to look for the adult who brought her here. I should have been worried this was some kind of trap. But seeing the small, dirty child shivering in my shed, my only thought was getting her to safety before she froze to death.

“Hey,” I softened my voice and slowly squatted next to her. “Hi there, honey. I’m Aimee and this is my place.” Tenderly, I placed my hand on her back and fought away burning tears. At my touch, her entire body shivered, as if preparing for a beating.

Removing my hand from her back, I lowered myself to a cross-legged seat on the floor next to her.

“It’s awfully cold out here, huh? Why don’t you come back to the house with me? I was about to make some hot chocolate and grilled cheese sandwiches for dinner. There’s plenty for you, too.”

Aside from the uncontrollable shivers wracking her tiny body, the child was motionless, and just like that, it hit me. This poor kid was cold and in danger of freezing to death, yes. But she was also deep in the throes of the freeze reflex. She was terrified, and somehow, with an unquestioning certainty, I knew three things.

One: She was completely alone.

Two: She has endured more terror in her few short years than most people face in their entire lives.

Three: Though she looks like a waif, she’s strong enough to have survived alone this long.

“I’ll tell you what.” I unfolded my legs and my knees popped as I stood. “The storm is getting worse and this shed isn’t very warm. I’m going to take a few moments to put some wood on my cart so I don’t have to come back out to get more later. It’s a big job and I’d love a little help, if you’re up for it.” Gently, quietly, I placed first one log and then another on the cart.

“Do you like grilled cheese sandwiches? They’re my favorite. My great grandma used to make them with apples and honey mustard, and to this day I think that’s the best way.”

I prattled on like that, talking softly about a great grandma who never existed while loading the cart. After a few minutes, the girl stood, picked up a log, and handed it to me wordlessly.

“Thanks, um…Sweetie, what’s your name?”

She shook her head slightly before picking up another log.

Something about her lit a spark of recognition. I’d never seen this child before, yet, somehow, I feel as though I've known her her whole life. “Okay, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. I’m just glad for your help. With the two of us, we’ll be done in a flash. If you like, You can hold on tight and ride on top of the cart when we’re done.”

Silently, with wide eyes that have seen more than they should, she helped me load the cart. When we finished, she eyed it, piecing together whether she really would be allowed to ride it back and if so, how to get onto it.

“Can I give you a boost?” Two tiny nods of her head before she reached her arms up to me.

“One, two, three!” On three, I tightened my core and lifted her with far more force than necessary. She was even slighter than I guessed. As if she were a living, paper mache girl. “Okay, hang on tight for me.”

Pulling the cart behind me slowly, I made sure to check on her every couple of feet in case she fell. But she didn’t. She held on tightly, her small chin lifted defiantly toward the falling snow. I don't know what this strong little girl has been through, but I know right now, she needs food, shelter, and rest.

In the house, I offered her one of my old sweatshirts and a pair of fuzzy socks to change into while I unloaded the wood. By the time I finished, she had changed out of her wet clothes, pulled the blanket off the couch, and snuggled in front of the fire. She had also carefully laid out her dirty clothes near the hearth to dry. Deep sadness clogged my throat as I realized she was trying to make sure stuff dried before she had to leave again.

"I'm sorry," I call from the kitchen as I set my heavy cast iron skillet on the stovetop to heat. "I thought I had hot chocolate like I promised, but I must have run out. I do have bread and cheese, though, so your sandwich will be up in a jiff."

The girl in the other room might as well be alone in the house. She doesn't move a single muscle. Doesn't look back at me or shrug her shoulders.

This stoic, silent child stirs a deep protectiveness in me. I only found her minutes ago, but I already know I'd fight wolves, bears, and Hell's Angels alike to keep this little one safe, the way nobody ever did for me.

Another blast of wind stokes the fire and rattles the windows and I can't help shuddering. How long had she been hiding in my shed? And what would have happened to her if I had decided not to go get more wood?

A thin layer of blue smoke hovers in the kitchen as I slide the grilled cheese onto a plate and cut it into triangles. I might not know who this kiddo is, but I know nobody can resist grilled cheese cut into triangles. I never could, anyway.

Grabbing the star splattered mug in one hand and the plate in the other, I walk softly to the child and squat down next to her.

"Mija," I set the plate and mug in front of her. "I know you're really tired, but before you sleep, I need you to eat. Can you do that for me?"

Her cheeks, still ruddy from the cold, burn a brighter shade of rose when her stomach growls loudly.

"And maybe we'll get lucky. Maybe tomorrow, the storm will let up and my phone will work again and we'll get you back home to your mom and dad. Just think," I continue softly, "by this time tomorrow, you'll be having dinner with your family."

Before I can pride myself on my exceptional way with children, the girl shakes her head violently and kicks at the plate I've placed in front of her. Her eyes, fearful as a wild colt's, lock onto mine as her breathing shift to hyperventilating hitches.

She missed the plate with her kick so I place it and the mug on the hearth before sitting down on the floor next to her.

“You don’t want to go back to your family, do you?” It’s direct, but my instincts tell me directness is exactly what she needs from me right now. “It’s okay if you don’t want to. When I was about your age, I ran away from my family, too. Only, the neighbors found me and made me go back.”

Her breathing slows and she turns her wide eyes to me again.

“It’s okay,” I soothe. “I won’t be like that neighbor. I won’t make you go back there again if you don’t want to. You can stay here in this nice, warm cabin where nobody will find you or hurt you, ever again. You’re safe here.”

The girl sniffles and eyes the sandwich she almost toppled. Wordlessly, I hand it to her and smile as she takes greedy bites. When the sandwich is gone, I hand her the mug and warmth spreads through my stomach as I watch her drink it like it’s the most delicious thing in the world.

I put my arm around her and she snuggles into me with a stifled yawn. “You don’t have to tell me your real name if you don’t want, but if you’re going to be staying here a while, I should probably call you something besides ‘kiddo,’” I whisper, stroking her hair.

She turns to look at me with a warm smile. “My name is Aimee Molina,” she whispers. “Just like yours. Thank you for letting me stay.”

“You’re welcome, Love. You are welcome here forever.”

The fire pops and I take a sip of that creamy, sweetened tea. When the roads clear up, I’ll make a trip into town for a few supplies: Hot chocolate, cheese, bread, honey mustard, and some coloring books. If Little Aimee wants to come with me, I’ll let her pick out a few things to make her feel as loved and special as I wish someone had made me feel when I was her.