Magic Hour

She shut the door behind her. It clicked hard. She took her notebooks out of their storage box on the uppermost shelf of the closet and went to the table, where she read through her morning’s notes.

Today Alice picked up our copy of The Secret Garden. With remarkable dexterity, she flipped through the pages. Whenever she found a drawing, she made a noise and hit the page with her palm, then looked up to find me. She seems to want me watching her all the time.

She is still following me like a shadow, everywhere I go. She often tucks her hand into my belt or the waistband of my pants and presses against me, moving with a surprising ability to gauge where I’m going.

She still shows no real interest in other people. When anyone comes into the room, she races to the “jungle” of hers and hides. I believe she thinks we can’t see her.

She is increasingly possessive of me, especially when we are not alone. This shows me that she has the ability to make attachments and bond. Unable—or unwilling—to vocalize this posse

ssiveness when others are speaking to me, she uses whatever is available to make noise—hitting the wall, snorting, shuffling her feet, howling. I’m hopeful that someday soon her frustration at the limitations of these forms of communication will force her to try verbalizing her feelings.

Julia picked up her pen and added:

In the past week, she’s become quite comfortable in her new environment. She spends long spans of time at the window, but only if I will stand with her. I have noticed increasing curiosity about her world. She looks under and around things, pulls out drawers, opens closets. She still won’t touch anything metal—and screams when an accidental contact is made—but she’s edging toward the door. Twice today she dragged me to the door and then forced me to lie down beside her. She spent almost an hour in total silence, staring at the bar of light from the hallway. The dogs were on the other side, whining and scratching to be let in. Alice is beginning to wonder what’s beyond this room. That’s a good sign—she’s gone from fear to curiosity. Thus, I think it’s time to expand her world a bit. But we’ll have to be very careful; I believe the forest will exert a powerful pull on her. Somewhere out there, in all that darkness, is the place that was her home.

Julia heard a movement on the bed. The old wooden frame creaked as Alice got up. As always, the girl woke up and went straight into the bathroom. She ran nimbly, almost soundlessly, across the floor and ducked into the smaller room. Moments later the toilet flushed. Then Alice ran for Julia, tucking up alongside her, putting her tiny hand in Julia’s pants pocket.

She put her pen down, then gathered up her journals and notebooks and put everything on a high shelf. Alice moved soundlessly beside her, never losing contact.

Julia went to the chest of drawers and withdrew a pair of blue overalls and a pretty pink sweater. “Put these on,” she said, handing them to Alice, who complied. It took her several attempts to put on the sweater—she kept confusing the neck and sleeves. When she grew frustrated and started breathing heavily and snorting, Julia dropped to her knees.

“You’re getting frustrated. That’s okay. Here. This is where your head goes through.”

Alice instantly calmed and let Julia help her, but she drew the line at shoes. She simply would not put them on. Finally, Julia conceded defeat.

“Come with me,” she said, “but your feet will be cold.” She held out her hand.

Alice sidled up to Julia, put her hand in the pocket again.

Very gently, Julia eased Alice away from her. Then she held out her hand again. “Take my hand, Alice.” She made her voice as soft as a piece of silk.

Alice’s breathing grew heavier. Confusion tugged at her brow and forehead.

“It’s okay.”

Long minutes passed. They both stood perfectly still. Twice more Alice went for Julia’s pocket and was very carefully rebuffed.

Finally, just when Julia was considering the viability of her plan, Alice took a step toward her.

“That’s it,” Julia said. “Take my hand.”

Alice’s reaching out was slow, unsteady, and perhaps the most courageous moment Julia had ever witnessed. The girl was clearly terrified—she was breathing hard, trembling; the look in her eyes was of near terror—and yet she reached out.

Julia held the tiny, shaking hand in hers.

“No hurt,” she said, looking down at Alice.

Alice breathed a sigh of relief.

Holding hands, Julia led her toward the door.

Alice halted as they drew close. This was the closest she’d ever really been to the door. She stared at the bright, shiny knob in horror.

“It’s okay. No hurt. You’re safe.” Julia squeezed Alice’s hand in reassurance. She didn’t move, let Alice accept the moment thus far; when the girl’s trembling subsided, Julia reached for the door.

Alice tried to pull back.

Julia held fast to her hand, saying soothingly, “It’s okay. You’re afraid, but no hurt.” She twisted the knob and pushed the door open. The hallway was revealed. Long and straight, illuminated by sconces, there were no shadows in front of them, no hidden spaces. The dogs were there. At Alice’s presence, they erupted into barking, prancing movements and started to run toward her.