Chapter 3

The next day was as hot as any had been. Anna's clothes were finally dry and she had been relieved to finally be allowed to change back into them. Tom had kept his word and had not told Mrs. Vanderholt about Anna's discomfort in wearing the dress. Tom had also kept his promise about their trip and took Anna down to the river so they could go fishing together. Anna had been nervous about returning to the river which had almost claimed her life, but Tom had told her that he would be there with her and that she needn't be afraid.

"You have to face your fears," he had said while loading a couple fishing poles into the back of his truck, "or your fear will own you forever."

Anna couldn't argue with such wise advice; she truly didn't want to spend the rest of her life living in fear of the river.

"Alright," she had said. "But I'm not going in the water."

Tom had nodded that it was acceptable and let Anna take things at her own pace. She wasn't sure how, but, by mid-day, he had convinced her to go ankle-deep into the water.

As they cast out their lines—Anna's much farther than Tom's—he asked a very strange question of her. "Anna," he said, "how come you're so good at this kind of stuff?"

"What kind of stuff?" she asked.

"You know fishing, painting, and stuff like that. You're pretty good at it—for a girl."

"I don't know," she admitted, then remarked, "The same reason I'm so cool—for a girl."

Tom smiled and cast out his line. She noticed that his casting was on mark.

"You're pretty good at this stuff too," she said, smirking. "For a boy."

Tom laughed. "Okay, okay, truce," he said.

It seemed strange to her then, that Anna had the sudden feeling known as Deja-Vu—the feeling you get like you've done something before. She couldn't imagine why she felt this way now.

She thought maybe she had gone fishing before, maybe with her mother or her father.

She still couldn't remember either of them. She didn't mention her feelings to Tom though. She didn't really want to talk about them at that moment; she just wanted to fish.

They spent the entire day at the river, Tom catching an occasional trout and Anna landing catfish after catfish. Since catfish can be dangerous, Tom took out the hooks for her and tossed the flopping fish back into the river, before going back to his own fishing.

It felt good to have escaped the clutches of the wicked witch, but Anna knew that they would soon be found, for no one ever escaped the witch for long.

Anna knew that, soon enough, she would be back on the farm, her tender backside tasting the bitter sting of the lash, and Tom would be the witch's willing puppet again.

Anna considered building a raft and the two of them sailing down the river to the sea; but she didn't want to chance drowning again. As much as she feared the wrath of the wicked witch, she feared the river's wrath even more.

Besides, the witch probably already knew where they were and had sent her servants to spy on them. Anna could practically hear them moving about in the bushes. For all she knew, the witch herself was already on her way to reclaim the two of them, personally.

Their situation seemed hopeless. The two of them were doomed to be in the service of Mistress Vanderholt forever. And, on top of everything else, Anna still had no idea who she was; the spell the witch had cast on her kept even her own identity from her mind.

As Anna watched the birds flying across the sky, she wondered what it must be like to be free—to have no attachments to anyone. Her 'freedom' from attachment was forced, and it had come with a heavy price.

In spite of everything Tom had her grandmother had done for her, she still felt out of place—like she just didn't belong on the farm.

Tom must have noticed her melancholy, because as soon as she thought about it, he asked her what was wrong.

"I don't know," she admitted. "I just don't feel like I belong here. I feel like I'm supposed to be somewhere else."

"You mean you want to go home, back to the farm?"

She shook her head. "No. I mean I don't feel at home on the farm; or anywhere else for that matter."

Tom cast out his line again. "Well, you've lost your memory. It's only natural to be feeling a little lost, yourself."

Anna gave up. Tom just didn't understand what she was going through. How could he? He knew exactly who he was, down to the last detail while she didn't even remember her own parents. She realized something, then.

"Tom, why aren't there any pictures of me in the house?"

Tom stared in silence for a moment before answering.

"There was a fire, a long time ago. A few people died, including your parents. All your family photos were lost in the blaze."

"Did you know them? My parents, I mean."

"Yes, I did," he said, his eyes brimming with tears. "They were the nicest people I ever knew."

All this time she had been jealous of Tom. Now, as she watched the tears stream down his face, his noble features wracked with sorrow, for the first time in a long time, Anna was grateful that she didn't have any memories of her own.

She wanted to ask him more about what her parents were like, about who they were, but she didn't want to disturb him; he seemed lost in the haze of his memories.

It was late afternoon by the time they made it home. Anna thought that she must have caught a dozen fish and Tom had caught every one in the river that she didn't catch. The sun was more than halfway to setting when they walked into the house.

Tom set down the fishing poles and tackle box near the door. "Hello?" he called out. "Mrs. Vanderholt?"

No one answered.

"Grandma?" Anna called. "We're home!"

She began walking through the house.

"Tom slipped and fell in the river! It was great! He hooked himself with his own fishing line!"

Tom made a face at her she didn't notice and looked around for Mrs. Vanderholt.

They couldn't find her anywhere. No one was home. Then they looked in the kitchen.

There was a note on the table. It looked like someone had written it in a hurry.

Tom, come quick. Hospital. Emergency. Bring Anna.

The waiting room was cold and quiet as a grave. It was an hour before anyone told them what had happened. It wasn't good. Anna's grandmother had had a heart-attack and they didn't think she would live. Anna could feel her heart breaking as she collapsed in tears, falling into Tom's arms, sobbing against his chest in anguish at knowing that she was about to lose the only relative she had left to her.

It was all so unfair. First Anna had lost her parents, and then she had lost her memories, and now she was going to lose her Grandmother as well. She didn't think she could take it. If it weren't for Tom, she wouldn't know what she would do.

Tom said he would look after her now, that he wouldn't let them put her into foster care. She was grateful for that. She didn't like the idea of being put into another strange place, not after everything that she had already been through.

After a few minutes of grieving, she was let in to her Grandmother's room to say goodbye.

Grandma Vanderholt was barely breathing as Anna and Tom slipped silently into her room. She opened her eyes at the sound of Anna's voice.

"Anna," she breathed, "oh, Anna, I was so worried. You were so late coming home that I thought you might have gotten hurt." She squeezed Anna's hand.

"I'm here now, Grandma. I'm right here," Anna cried, as she blinked away the tears.

"Tom," Mrs. Vanderholt whispered, "Take her away from here. I don't want my granddaughter to see my death."

Tom began leading her away. Anna reluctantly complied, but not before giving her grandmother a kiss on the check and whispering a final goodbye to her.

Tom asked her to wait in the hall as Mrs. Vanderholt called him back for a moment.

"Tom," she sighed, as he kneeled at her bedside.

"Yes, Mrs. Vanderholt?"

"Tell her the truth."

Tom was stunned. "You mean, you know? You know that—"

"She's not my Granddaughter? Yes, Tom, I know. I've always known."

"But, if you knew then… why?"

"Because you wanted to help me and I didn't want you to think I wasn't happy. So I played along with your little game," she wheezed. "But the game must end, now, Tom. She must know the truth. Tell her, Tom. Tell her the truth. Tell her that we don't know who she really is or where she really came from."

"Alright, Mrs. Vanderholt," Tom said. "If that is your wish, then I will honor it."

"Thank you, Tom, thank you" she whispered as she fell into a deep from which she was never to awaken again.

Anna sat quietly, watching as the mover's continued to cart away furniture. It had only been a week since her Grandmother's funeral and everything seemed to be falling apart.

The bank had repossessed the farm and the possessions that hadn't been donated to charity were being sold off to pay her debts. There were quite more than a few expenses.

Most of the farmhands had left to find work elsewhere. Anna had been profoundly hurt to discover that everyone would just up and leave as soon as things got tough. They seemed to her like nothing so much as hairy vultures departing a corpse after having had their fill, leaving behind the bones of the old farmhouse to bleach in the sun.

Tom had told her not to blame them, that they had to look out for themselves, and that they couldn't stay on because they didn't own the farm. After awhile, Anna realized that he was right. She still didn't like the feeling of abandonment, though; she had considered every one of those people her friends. Now, just like her grandmother, they were gone.

Anna had to get up so the movers could lift the antique rocking chair she had been sitting in. As they did so, Anna snatched up her grandmother's shall that she had been so fond of wearing; it was all she had left to remember her by. She wrapped it around her shoulders and watched as the last of her grandmother's possessions were carted away.

Tom came down the stairs carrying a suitcase filled with the dresses her grandmother had left to her, after the movers had departed in their truck. He silently stepped up next to Anna and put a hand on her shoulder in sympathy

"Ready to go," he asked, solemnly. Anna nodded, too broken-hearted to speak.

Tom gently took her arm and led her out the door of the farmhouse for the last time, away from the only home she could remember, away from this place of broken dreams.