Chapter 6 - The Montana Trail
By late November, the rain in Washington had turned to snow in Montana.
The Cedar Ridge Children’s Home sat on a lonely hillside outside of Bozeman—a cluster of gray stone buildings surrounded by rows of skeleton-like pine trees and white fields that stretched out toward the jagged peaks of the Bridger Mountains.
I stepped out of the black SUV, the crisp, cold air instantly biting at my cheeks. Emma sat in the back seat, her face pressed against the glass, her pale blue eyes watching the stone gates of the orphanage with a quiet, unreadable expression.
Arthur Vance walked beside me, his boots crunching loudly against the packed snow.
"The regional director was cooperative once we showed them the Sterling funding ledgers," Arthur said, his breath coming in white puffs. "The state has already suspended their operational license pending a full review of the adoption placements from the last five years."
The front doors of the main building opened, and a woman in a heavy gray cardigan stepped out onto the porch. She looked thin, nervous, her hands fluttering to her apron as she saw the vehicle and the legal documents in Arthur’s hand.
"Mrs. Caldwell," she said, her voice shaking slightly in the cold. "I’m Director Miller. We... we received the notice from the state capital. I want to assure you that we had no knowledge of Mr. Caldwell’s... situation. He came to us with excellent recommendations from the Sterling Foundation."
"The Sterling Foundation was paying you twenty thousand dollars per placement to bypass the standard state psychological evaluation for the children, Director Miller," I said, stopping at the bottom of the porch steps. "Specifically regarding the children who showed signs of hyper-awareness or trauma-induced behavioral patterns."
The woman went pale, her eyes darting toward the SUV where Emma was sitting. "Emma is... she’s a very special girl, Mrs. Caldwell. She doesn't talk much, but she sees things. When she was here, she used to draw pictures of the boiler room before the pipes burst. We thought she was just... sensitive."
"She’s not sensitive, Director," I said, stepping up onto the porch, my voice completely firm. "She’s precise. And you tried to sell her to a man who wanted to use her as a shield for a murder."
"I... I didn't know," the woman wept, covering her face with her hands. "We needed the funding. The roof was leaking, the children didn't have winter coats... the Sterling family promised us they’d take care of our endowment if we just let them manage the selection process for certain high-profile families."
"The Shellbourne Trust is taking over the endowment today," I said, pulling a single document from my coat and placing it in her shaking hands. "But you won't be here to spend it. The state department of social services is arriving in an hour with a new administrative team. You have forty-eight hours to clear your personal effects from the office."
I turned back toward the SUV, not waiting for her response. When I opened the back door, Emma looked up at me, her small hand reaching out to touch the wool of my sleeve.
May you like
"Mommy?" she asked, her voice small, the flat, empty tone from Bellevue finally beginning to crack, revealing the regular seven-year-old girl hidden beneath the trauma.
"Let’s go home, Emma," I said, pulling her into my lap and closing the door against the Montana wind. "The dark room is closed."
