Footprints in the Sand. Eleanor Jones

kids who would soon be moving on. I wanted to know where they moved on to, but I didn’t ask.

      Bryn was nine years old; he had his birthday the day after I came to Appletree. So would he move on soon? I wondered. The thought ate at me like a disease, filling my dreams. If only I could ask him. I tried, I really tried, but the anger inside me got in the way of my tongue. When the social worker tried to make me talk, sometimes my words came out in a scream. But I never screamed when Bryn was there. He was my friend. My friend. I hugged that thought close to me, even though I knew we could never be proper friends. So I just listened to the things he said, hardly ever responding but hanging on to his every word so I could remember them later when I was alone in my bed.

      He looked at me sometimes with a hurt expression, but I knew holding back was the only way to keep things as they were. It was all a waste of time, though, for eventually it wasn’t Bryn who changed, but my whole world.

      * * *

      MRS. DIBBLE CALLED US to the dining room midmorning. We were in class, and Bryn was helping me cut out pictures from the computer and stick them in a book. The heading on the front of it was Things I Love, but the only pictures I wanted to put in it were of dogs. Dogs loved you but never asked questions, Bryn said, and nothing in my life was more certain than the fact that one day I would have a dog of my own. Bryn felt the same way. And he wanted the same dog as me.

      “Children!”

      Mrs. Dibble banged on the table with a spoon and we all looked up.

      “Into the dining room now, please.”

      We filed through cautiously, aware of the strained look on her gray face and the faint tremble in her high-pitched voice.

      When she told us, when she made the announcement that was to change all our lives, I felt sick. For the first time ever I broke my own rule, taking hold of Bryn’s hand and curling my fingers around his. He held them very tightly as the news sank in. Appletree House was shutting down, and we would all be moving on to new places. But we mustn’t worry, Mrs. Dibble said. They would be very nice homes.

      Where was my anger? I searched my soul for it, but all I could find was sorrow. Suddenly, out of the blue, my world was tumbling down yet again. Was it my fault, then? Was it because I had grown to like this place?

      I didn’t want to face the idea that we would have to be parted, so I tried to imagine us moving on together, all the children from Appletree House, and even Mrs. Dibble.

      I had come to rely on the gray lady’s firm rule. “Harsh but fair,” Bryn said, and that was true enough. At least it had been until now. There was nothing fair about taking away our home. Bryn stuck up for her, though. He said it wasn’t her fault. He must have been right, for on that last morning she looked like a ghost who had lost its way. She walked quickly out of the room as soon as she’d spoken to us. I can’t remember what she said.

      Susan, the social worker with the shiny straight hair, stood at the end of the long dining room, right where I’d stood all those months ago. She had a clipboard in her hand—Susan liked carrying clipboards. I think it made her feel important. Mrs. Dibble didn’t need anything to make her feel that way.

      “These are unfortunate circumstances, children,” Susan told us. “I have the unenviable task of informing you all where you’ll be moving and I want you to know that we’re all trying to do our very best for you.”

      I felt Bryn quiver beside me. I wanted to take hold of his hand again, but I didn’t.

      “Billy Sharp, you—” she squinted at her clipboard “—will go to Long Meadows. It’s a nice family house near Lancaster, a place for older children. Four of you are moving there.”

      She glanced at her clipboard again.

      “Ashley Gibb, Tom Bradley and...”

      My heart wrenched, sensing something bad that I was still unaware of.

      “The fourth lucky child going to such a nice place will be...” She looked straight at me.

      “Bryn Evans.”

      All the anger inside me that had faded over the past two years came rushing back. My fingers found Bryn’s again and held on so tightly that no one would ever be able to pull them away. But of course they did.

      I don’t remember much about the day after that. I don’t remember Susan telling me where I was going because, without Bryn, I didn’t care. When he was driven away in a big blue car with the three other children, I thought I would probably die. I wanted to die so much, just close my eyes and join my father and Daffyd in whatever place they were.

      Bryn’s face was pressed against the window. I think he was crying, but I couldn’t cry. I watched until the car became a pale blur in the distance and then disappeared altogether, and I wrapped my arms around myself, desperately searching for the familiar crossness that fought off my pain and loneliness.

      “Come on, Elsa.” That was Mrs. Dibble’s voice. I didn’t need to look at her to know she was choking on her tears. “Be strong. There’s nothing any of us can do to stop this. Life goes on, no matter what we do.”

      Her interruption stopped me from going over the edge and being like I used to be when I first came to Appletree. Instead I just became hollow and empty inside.

      * * *

      I DIDN’T TAKE MUCH NOTICE of the place they sent me to at first. There was a small plump woman named Helen with curly hair and kind eyes—she tried to be friends with me but I didn’t let her. One thing she told me sank in, though. She must have known how much I liked Bryn because she talked to me about him.

      “You needed to be in our small unit, here at Braymore,” she said gently, touching my hand. I pulled it sharply away.

      “And the older ones had to go into a different environment.”

      I stared at my shoes.

      “Now you have two choices....”

      I started to hum.

      “Either you can be reclusive and difficult, like you were when you first went to Appletree, or you can stay quiet, keep to yourself, but watch and learn. Then, one day, when you’re older and you meet your friend again—as you surely will if you’re really so fond of each other—you’ll have become a bright, intelligent girl, one he will be proud to know.”

      That may have been one of the most important things anyone ever said to me. From that day on, I focused my every thought on making Bryn proud. I remained aloof from the other children, unapproachable, locked in my own private world, and my insecurities still plagued me, but I learned and thrived and waited for the day Bryn would see the new me.

      * * *

      I WAS TWELVE YEARS OLD WHEN they moved me again, and to my own surprise, I felt sorry to leave Braymore. I hadn’t noticed the austere stone house with its small paned windows becoming a home to me, but it truly felt as if I was leaving home on the morning that I stood in the dark hallway with my battered suitcase.

      I felt fear deep inside, fear of an unknown future, and the hard knot that I used to call my crossness pressed against my rib cage. It was strange to feel that raw anger again, the fierce, painful lump that made me want to strike out at the rest of the world. Strange and terrifying, for I knew it could still take me over if I let it.

      Helen took my face between her palms.

      “Good luck, Elsa,” she said. “I hope you’ll find your friend again. And he will be proud of you, believe me.”

      That was one of the golden moments in my life. For the first time I could make someone proud, and now all I had to do was find him. In the end, it was easier than I thought.

      I stepped into the social worker’s long red car and sat with my suitcase on my knees.

      Dermot, the young man who had taken Susan’s place, grinned at me.

      “Don’t look so worried,” he said. “The