Kyleah's Tree

Kyleah’s Tree

by

Janet Muirhead Hill

ISBN: 978-0-9820893-3-0

Copyright © 2009 by Janet Muirhead Hill

This is a work of fiction, the first of a trilogy The names of people and places, the events, conversations, and experiences, in this book, are from the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be used in any form without written permission from the publisher.

Published by

Raven Publishing, Inc.,

P.O. Box 2866, Norris, MT

www.ravenpublishing.net

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Chapter One

Kyleah wished with all her might, blocking out every thought and niggling doubt that could reduce the power of her wish. She had crept out of bed before sunrise while everyone in the house slept and climbed the tall oak tree in the corner of the backyard. She didn’t stop climbing until she was so high there were no more branches to step on, and the trunk was so thin it gently swayed with the weight of her small body.

That was the first rule for wish making. Just before the sun peeked over the horizon, she closed her eyes tightly and repeated her wish over and over in her mind. That was the second rule. The third and hardest part was to open her eyes at exactly the right time—no sooner, no later—for if the sun hadn’t risen just enough to sit exactly on top of the horizon, her wish would be undone.

As the rays from the rising sun warmed her face, the screen door slammed. Kyleah’s eyes popped open. Uncle Donald trudged toward the barn, milk buckets in hand.

Glancing at the sun, she sighed. The black line of the world’s edge cut off a fourth of the fiery globe. Her wish would not come true. She stared at the slowly rising red ball. When it seemed to rest for just a moment on top of the horizon before floating up toward the golden clouds, she stepped down to a lower branch.

What were you doing out of bed so early? asked Aunt Jude.

Kyleah jerked her head up from her bowl of cornflakes to meet Aunt Jude’s eyes.

Well? I asked what you were doing, Aunt Jude repeated.

Watching the sunrise.

You couldn’t sleep?

I wanted to see the sunrise, Sun-risen, she corrected herself in her mind. I wanted to see the sun all-the-way risen. Tomorrow I will. I’ll keep trying until I get it exactly right.

Becka, watch out! Now look what you’ve done, Aunt Jude scolded her daughter.

Kyleah watched the river of milk ooze toward her from across the table. As Aunt Jude sopped it up, Kyleah slipped from the table and out the door. Seven-year-old Sammy yelled, Hey, Ky, you weren’t excused. Mom, Kyleah left the table without being excused.

If Aunt Jude didn’t forget, she’d have something to say to Kyleah later, but the odds were she’d get so busy with the new babies, she wouldn’t think of it again.

Aunt Jude wasn’t really her aunt. She and her husband, Donald Holcomb, asked their wards to call them Aunt and Uncle. Only their real kids, nine-year-old Becka and seven-year-old Sammy, called them Mom and Dad—and their grown-up daughter, Deb. She was at summer school getting a head start on her first year of college. She couldn’t wait to get away from all of us foster kids, Kyleah thought. And I don’t blame her. Located a few miles from Winfield, Kansas, the big house on Holcombs’ small farm was overrun with children of various ages. I can never find peace and quiet. Except in my tree, Kyleah thought. Nobody ever looks up.

What’s it like, living in a foster home? The words echoed in Kyleah’s mind as she knelt to pull weeds from a row of pole beans. Marnie Kennedy had spat them as if they were an awful taste in her mouth after Sunday school yesterday. Maybe she’s mad I got put in the junior-high class. It wasn’t my fault the teachers decided to include sixth graders.

Kyleah had looked up foster home in the dictionary. A home where children are raised by people other than their natural parents. What’s so bad about that? But she knew. The bad thing was she had no parents to care about her—the bad thing was she didn’t belong, not even after six years. Becka and Sam and Deb would never know what it feels like not to have their own mom or dad tuck them in at night.

What’s it like to live in a foster home? It’s constantly sharing—sharing work, sharing time, attention, and space. It’s never being the favorite like Marnie, the mayor’s fancy daughter, or like Becka, who’s so pretty she’s always the center of attention. It’s having too many kids come and go so you never make friends, because if you do, they’ll just leave…and you’ll never see them again.

That wasn’t true of everyone. Some, like her, would probably be there forever—well, until they turned eighteen, anyway. Like thirteen-year-old Benjamin. No one wants to adopt a boy that age. No one wants eleven-year-old girls like me either. Not even nine-year-old Sharon. Someone might take Maria. The five-year-old with her dark brown eyes and wavy black hair drew comments from perfect strangers. What a pretty little girl! So many kids had come and gone that Kyleah couldn’t remember all their names. Many were babies like the two new ones that came yesterday.

With Uncle Donald at his job at the tire shop all day, Aunt Jude had her hands full. Of course, the kids helped. They each had chores to do, beginning early with garden work so they’d be done before the heat of the day. Kyleah sighed when she heard the back door slam.

Ain’t you in trouble, first sneaking out of the house before daylight, then leaving the table without permission, Benjamin taunted. Crouching between two rows of carrots, he asked, What were you doing up so early?

I was watching the sunrise.

Yeah, right. What else?

Nothing else, okay?

Aunt Jude might buy that. Tell me the truth, or I’ll tell Uncle Donald what you did last week.

What?

I saw you burying something out back of the calf shed. I dug it up. Wait until Donald hears you killed one of his baby chicks.

Kyleah gasped. The vision of the warm, lifeless body lying limp in her hands brought back the sadness she’d felt. Horror at what she’d done and the fear of someone finding out came flooding back, making it hard to breathe. I didn’t mean to. You know I wouldn’t hurt anything on purpose. It ran under my foot so fast, I couldn’t stop before I stepped on it. Please, don’t tell.

I won’t if you tell me what you were doing.

Look, Ben…

Benjamin to you, he growled.

Fine, then. Don’t ever call me Ky.

I don’t. Now tell me. You’re gonna run away, aren’t you?

No. Why would I?

Why? Because this place stinks. You never cool off. Chiggers burrow into your skin and make you itch forever. All we do is work and eat and study. Jude and Donald don’t notice we’re alive unless we break one of their precious rules.

You run away, then!

I will. I’m going back to Saskatchewan, but if you get any ideas about how to do it, clue me in. We could help each other.

Tell me about Saskatchewan, Kyleah said. What a magical sounding word.

First promise you’ll tell me your ideas for running away.

Okay, I will. I just couldn’t come up with a good plan this morning, she told him. Let him think what he wants. To tell him the truth would break the fourth and most important wishing rule: Don’t tell anyone your wish!

The screen door slammed. Becka and Sharon moseyed toward the garden, talking and giggling. Ever since Sharon arrived two years ago, she and Becka were inseparable. I don’t care. Who needs them anyway?

I’ll tell you about Moose Jaw later, Benjamin said.

Moose Jaw?

Later, I said.

It’s five o’clock," Benjamin called, interrupting Kyleah in a rather exciting part of her latest library book. She lay on the living room floor in front of the rotating fan.

Okay, she muttered. Let me finish this chapter. I’m almost done. But the chapter ended in suspense, and she turned the page. Benjamin grabbed the book and put a milk pail in its place. Kyleah sighed and followed him out the door.

Kyleah skipped alongside Benjamin, hoping to hear more about the exotic places in faraway Canada while they did the evening milking. Jewel and Maude, the two Guernsey cows that kept the family in dairy products, waited at the barn door.

Kyleah, wait! Aunt Jude called before they reached the barn. Ben, you’ll have to milk both cows tonight, unless Donald gets home in time to help. I have another job for Kyleah.

Kyleah groaned, and Benjamin muttered something that didn’t sound like a proper word, but they didn’t argue. They’d just get the morning milking added to their list of daily chores if they did. Most of the time, Uncle Donald milked before he went to work in the mornings.

What do you want me to do? Kyleah asked.

It’s time you learned to take care of babies. With two of them at once, I can’t get anything else done. I’ll show you how to change their diapers, and then you can give them their bottles and rock them to sleep.

Kyleah followed each step, changing the baby girl as she watched Jude demonstrate on the scrawny boy. It’s about time, she thought. Some of the girls at school already had babysitting jobs, or so they claimed. Taking care of the babies had always been Deb’s job. But now Deb was gone, and Kyleah was happy to take over.

What are their names? Kyleah asked.

I’m calling this one Josiah. His mother didn’t want to name him, so his official name will have to wait for his adoptive parents. That one is Allyson. Her mother will be taking her home as soon as she recovers from surgery, so don’t get attached.

Allyson’s smiles produced dimples in her tiny round face. Josiah was plain ugly. His slit-like eyes were too far apart. There seemed to be too much space between his tiny turned-up nose and his thin upper lip. He kept his hands in tiny, balled fists with no thumbs showing, as if he were going to punch someone.

Kyleah fed Allyson first, burped her, and gently placed her in one of the bassinets. Allyson didn’t protest, but went right to sleep. Josiah wouldn’t take the bottle. He cried and jerked and let milk run out of the corner of his mouth. What’s wrong with him, Aunt Jude? Kyleah asked, carrying him to the kitchen. Is he human?

What kind of question is that? Do you think he’s a monkey or something?

Well, he looks weird, and he won’t suck. He keeps jerking and his eyes are… She shrugged, at a loss for words to describe them.

He has fetal alcohol syndrome, Aunt Jude replied. "He’ll never be normal, and that’s too bad because it’s not his fault. His mother drank while she was pregnant, and this is what alcohol does to a baby while it’s