Part 9 (2/2)

”Shush, y'all!”

”Her sister Abbie still can't believe her little sister went through that hole, all the way to the base of the tree-and their mom couldn't believe it either...”

The segment went on with me saying something about Abbie s.h.i.+ning her light down the tree and then cut back to the grove to show the neighbor's ladder and the hole in the tree.

”Mom and Dad tried to use their own ladder and rope, but after two hours, they finally decided to call 911, and the Briaroaks Fire Department answered the call.”

”It wasn't two hours,” I said. ”What kinda parents would wait two hours to call 911?”

”The opening of the tree is like this,” one of the firemen was saying, spanning his hands to show the approximate circ.u.mference of a manhole. ”Certainly nothing any of us are gonna be able to go down into. None of us are gonna fit down this hole...”

”It took the entire department to find a solution,” said the reporter. ”The tree was too unstable for chain saws and no one knew how healthy Anna might be...”

I have to laugh when I think about that statement from the perspective where we are now. No one knew how healthy Anna might be? Understatement of the year, we would soon discover.

”Finally Cleburne Fire Department came in with a bigger ladder and pulley, and rescuers convinced Anna to tie her own harness.”

”We were really worried about that,” said the fireman. ”We didn't know if she was gonna start going downhill and we'd have to do something more aggressive and immediate to get her out.”

”Anna never panicked,” the reporter cut in. ”After blacking out at the bottom, she says she saw Heaven and knew she was safe when she saw the firefighters' rope.”

”The only way I knew how to get out, what to grab ahold of,” said TV Anna, ”was because of my guardian angel's light.”

In the real world, Kevin and I exchanged glances. We were surprised when Anna volunteered this information to the news crew, and truth be told, we had mixed feelings about them using it. We were being very circ.u.mspect about our reaction, simply listening to her without any big reaction one way or another. We didn't want her to feel pressured to embellish the story or to feel that the experience was any less meaningful as if it were just a dream.

On the flip side, we wanted her to know that we were prepared to take her at her word; no one who loved her was telling her that she was silly or crazy or that things like that just don't happen. In any case, it was immediately clear that this was a powerfully meaningful experience for her, and we wanted her to be able to sort through her feelings about it without any comments from the peanut gallery.

”And the firefighters have a story of their own.”

”We were high-fiving and all that stuff, because this is a big day for us-well, for any fire department, really, but especially for a little volunteer fire department like us.”

I'd missed that part, focused on my little family as Anna and I flew away that night, but Kevin had told me about the emotional response on the ground. A lot of gruff throat-clearing, while these burly firemen shook hands with him and slapped each other on the shoulders with tears in their eyes. I say a warm prayer of thanks every time I think about them-especially Tristan, who had refused to move from his perch, and Mike, who refused to even take a break or straighten his back for the two hours or so he was at the top of the ladder holding the flashlight on Anna and painstakingly bringing her out.

”Anna was kept overnight at the hospital with a possible concussion. Once her bruises heal, she says she'll head back to the woods.”

”I love to climb trees,” said TV Anna, ”it's just-I'm not gonna listen to Abbie anymore!”

A warm chuckle went around the TV version of our living room, but my heart sank when I saw Abbie's face at the corner of the screen. Between that little ripple of laughter and the reporter's pithy wrap-up, there was a brief glimpse of Abbie, pain evident in her face, as she shrank away from her sister, who was still the center of attention.

When I tapped on her door at bedtime, she was still in a deep funk about it.

”Abbie, she didn't mean it the way it sounded,” I told her.

”Well, it sounded like I tried to hurt her on purpose-like I'm the most horrible sister in the world, or I'm just stupid, and that's what everybody's going to think, Mommy, because it was on TV!”

”Well, then they're also going to think I sat there twiddling my thumbs for two hours instead of calling 911. How do you think that makes me feel?”

”It's not the same,” Abbie said. ”You didn't actually do that. I did tell her to step in there. And she could've gotten killed.”

”Yes, she could have, Abbie, but she didn't. Instead, something miraculous and strange and terrifying and possibly wonderful happened, and I'm still trying to make sense of it, but whatever it was, Abigail, it was part of G.o.d's plan. And you were part of that plan. You were essential to that plan. G.o.d chose you to play that role. Because G.o.d knows your heart, sweet girl. He knew in that place and that moment, you would be smart enough to come up with that idea to get you both down off that branch, and He knew you'd be strong enough to tell her what to do, and He knew you'd be brave enough to own up to it and come get me when things went sideways.”

She blocked my hug, arms locked tight in front of her.

”Abbie...” I sat on the bed and lifted her feet into my lap. ”I remember one time when you were a very little girl, I found you sitting on the sofa crying your eyes out-half hysterical, crying-and I said, Oh, baby girl! What's the matter?' And you said, People are dying of cancer, Mommy, and I'm doing nothing about it! I'm not helping them!' I told your aunt Angie that, and we had to laugh, because it was so cute, but then I thought, wow, this itty-bitty girl has such a big heart for others. I love that. But you can't take on everything in the world like it depends on you, Abbie, because it doesn't. I hate to break it to you, sister, but sometimes it ain't about you.”

Abbie's eyes brimmed with tears. ”I would never hurt her, Mommy.”

”I know that, Abbie. Don't latch on to that part about her big sister said this or that. I know your heart, and so does Annabel. And Daddy and Adelynn. Who cares about anybody else? Anybody who thinks you could hurt Annabel-well, they don't know you, so nuts to 'em.”

Abbie didn't say anything, but I could see the gears turning.

”It might take her a while,” I told Kevin as we lay in bed that night. ”She's always taken on the role of protector and caregiver to her sisters. She's always this force of light and joy and good in the middle of all the heartache and struggle. I hate that it all turned around on her-through no fault of her own. It's just... what's that old saying? The road to h.e.l.l is paved with good intentions.' ”

”Road to Heaven, in this case,” he said sleepily.

”Don't joke.”

”Has she said anything else to you about all that?”

”No,” I said, ”but I was walking by Adelynn's room earlier, and Adelynn was asking her something about it, and I heard Anna tell her, It was a strange and wonderful experience.' Strange and wonderful. That's what she said.”

”Well. Let's just keep an eye on her,” Kevin said. ”See how it goes.”

This was easier said than done. Anna had a lot more energy than she'd had in quite a while, and she seemed determined to test the boundaries of G.o.d's hand and my patience. I'm all about the Texas tomboy country kids, but she was pus.h.i.+ng it with risk-taking behavior that had us genuinely concerned. First there was that horrifying moment on the balcony at Nonny's. After the holidays, on the school playground, instead of swinging on the swings, she'd climbed up and strolled along the crossbar like it was the balance beam at gymnastics. She didn't try the cottonwood tree again, but she made her way up just about every other tree on the property. I'd be in the field below, scolding and cajoling her to come down, and by the time she was finally back on solid ground, I'd be so frustrated, I didn't know whether to hug her or swat her on the backside.

We stuck to the plan, though, keeping an eye on her, listening, being available to her without nudging. Every once in a while, she'd make some oblique, offhand comment-like that ”strange and wonderful experience” comment to Adelynn-but it was months before she brought it up with me again. One afternoon when the house was quiet and I was sitting at the computer answering e-mail, she sat down beside me. She didn't say anything, but I could feel her wanting to.

”I sure was scared when you fell down in that tree,” I said without looking up. ”I still think about it sometimes.” I pecked away at my e-mail for another minute. ”Do you still think about it? That must have been incredibly scary for you.”

”It was,” she said. ”I was really scared, and I was wondering how they were going to get me out. I'm glad I'm a very calm person. I'm not afraid of small s.p.a.ces. I'm glad of that because if I was claustrophobic-and that means you don't like small s.p.a.ces-I would have maybe stressed myself out, and it would have been even harder for them to get me out.”

”When you were trying to just step in the opening,” I said, ”why didn't you step in feetfirst?”

”I tried to! I tried to go in feetfirst, but it had just rained a few days before, so the dirt inside the tree had turned to mud. I was holding on to a piece of wood on the edge, and it snapped, and my feet went over my head, and I hit my head three times on the way down. I was really glad that I didn't break my neck.”

”Me too!”

I kept typing, taking down her words now.

”When you fell,” I said, ”did you kind of slide down gradually or did you just go flying down?”

”I guess it was sort of in the middle. I started out sliding, and then it was like wheeesh-BAM! It's done.”

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