Disclaimer, Daria and all characters created by Glenn Eichler for the MTV series are the property of MTV. This story belongs to no one. Anyone who wishes to increase, edit, or embellish this story is welcome to do so, as long as it is not for profit.
We only hurt the ones we love.
Chapter 9:
"Hello, Davidson residence...hello, is anyone there?" I could hear the stress and apprehension in her voice, I swallowed tried to speak and swallowed again, so much had to be said but all I could manage was to croak out a raspy "Mom"
"Cassie! Dear Lord, thank you for answering our prayers. Cassie, where are you?"
"Mom, it's a long story, I'm so sorry for hurting you and Dad. I wrote you a letter, did you get it?"
"Yes, Cassie, we did; honestly, the letter left us with far more questions than answers. Please, just tell me where you are and what you are doing...we're worried sick over you."
"Mom, before I start, I need you to believe me – no matter how it may seem – I love you both so much and I miss you terribly. I know it was cowardly of me to leave without a word but, Mom, if you had tried to persuade me to stay – even shed a single tear – I wouldn't have had the strength to leave."
"Cassie, certainly, I believe you and we love you too. Now, tell me what has you so upset, why did you leave us?"
At hearing the inevitable question, my compunction – which, until then, had been resting, a leaden weight, in my gut – intensified to such a degree I felt, briefly, I would be physically ill. Awash with regret, my resolve replaced by timidity, I reconciled myself to the task before me and – remembering Mark Twain: "When in doubt tell the truth. It will confound your enemies and astound your friends." – spilled my guts. "Mom, I'm so ashamed of myself, everything you think you knew about me was a lie. My name, history, birthday: everything was a lie." After a few – simply dreadful – moments of silence, where I almost hoped the reply would be the sound of the the phone being hung up in my ear, Mom responded.
"Okay, let's start with your name, if it's not Cassie, then what is your real name?"
"Daria...Daria Morgendorffer."
"Daria? We went to register you as a missing person, when we told them that you'd been with us for nine years, the State Police suspected it might have been you."
"The State Police? Please, tell me you're not in any trouble due to me."
"No, at least not at the moment, They said that they may need to question us later. We're not worried; we've always done what was right in our hearts. Are you looking for your family?
"Actually, I'm with them now. I'm in Maryland." My mention of "State Police" had my Mom agitatedly motioning for me to hand her the cell phone.
"Uhmm, Mom, this is awkward but my other Mom would like to speak with you for a moment. She's a Lawyer and seems concerned about the Police involvement...are you okay with that?"
"Of course, I understand. What's her name?"
"Helen." That said I handed the phone over.
"Hello, Eileen, this is Helen Morgendorffer, first my husband and I want to sincerely thank you for the love and care you and your husband have shown my daughter. Seeing what an intelligent, respectful and responsible young lady she's become; honestly, we couldn't have done a better job. I know the story Daria told you; truthfully, you did what you believed to be best. We don't blame you at all and will do everything – in our power – to protect your dignity and your privacy. That's why I've asked to speak with you; if you would give me contact information for the authorities involved, maybe we can keep your community out of the media onslaught...it's the least we can do."
"My husband and I have always done what we believed to be right, so we're not worried; however, if our community could be spared unnecessary media attention that would be appreciated. I'll get you a contact name and phone number."
"Daria, here take the phone while I get a pad and pen. When Eileen gets back on just tell me the name and number, then you two can continue." With that my Mom handed me the phone. After a few seconds the sound of my other Mom returning could be heard.
"Helen?"
"No, Mom, it's me Daria. Mom wants me to tell her the information and then we can continue talking...if you want to."
"Daria, why ever would I not want to speak with you?"
"You must be hurt and terribly disappointed with me, not to mention totally fed up with the trouble I've caused: I wouldn't blame you."
"I know you've committed 1 Corinthians chapter 13 to memory; "Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things: Love never fails." our love for you is unconditional. Yes, your Dad and I were hurt and a bit disappointed but that doesn't mean we love you any less. Knowing now why you left and hearing your distress over it has tempered that considerably. This past week, Isaiah 41:10 and Romans 5:3-5 have been our constant companions. The Lord has answered our prayers, you're safe and sound, we must be content. Now is your Mother ready for the information..."
As I relayed the name and number to Mom my thoughts were on the scriptures quoted, especially with Isaiah – "fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God; I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will uphold you with my righteous right hand." they had taught me to pull strength from faith and had now proven it through their actions. After the information had been relayed another thought came to mind.
"Mom, where's Dad I'd like to speak with him too."
"He is meeting with the Elders, telling them what we learned today from the Police, I don't expect him for a couple of hours. Please, tell me you will call back later to speak with him."
"Without fail, will tomorrow morning about eight – your time – be alright?"
"Yes, he'll be waiting, I doubt he'll sleep a wink tonight knowing you're going to call. Daria, there's one part of your explanation that still troubles me; why – if you'd known that your family was looking for you – did you decide only now to leave?"
"Mom, I'd only found out they were looking for me on the trip we took to visit Uncle Robert in Montana. Remember I was tired and went to bed early"
"Yes, it was a long trip and I remember you turning in early."
"Well, there was a television in the guest room and, since we don't have one, I was curious; so I watched for a while and – to my absolute shock – my family was on a show about run-away children. They were telling what they had been through and how much they missed me and wished I'd be found...I was devastated. After that I've been torn between my life with you and the family I'd left; I've cried so much over leaving even though I believe it to be the right decision. Mom, can you and dad, truly, forgive me?"
"Your Dad and I want only the best for you of course we forgive you; the fact that you didn't believe you could confide your troubles with us is disappointing, but nothing more. Daria, in our hearts, you will always be our daughter; you will always be welcome in our lives."
Up until then I'd been able to keep my emotions mostly in check; now – no matter how hard I fought them – the tears fell anew. After a moment, and quite unexpectedly, laughter intermixed with the tears.
"Well, If you, really, want me in your lives; who am I to question it." by now a gentle laughter colored my voice – and for the first time in weeks – I was happy.
"Remember we're forgiven as we forgive. From the laughter in your voice I believe you understand now."
"Yes...yes, I do. Like Paul said "Be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ forgave you." I'm sorry to have not shared my troubles with you."
"Paul mentions forgiveness quite a bit in his letters; you quoted Ephesians 4:32 it's one of my favorites. If people were to remember only one verse of scripture that one would be good."
As we talked my whole being felt lighter as the troubles of the past week dissolved. Unfortunately, as the stress brought on by those troubles, and their corresponding adrenaline, left; it was quickly replaced by an overpowering weariness. Yawning, from my need for sleep, I tried to keep up the conversation; but both Mom's noticed immediately.
"Daria, when did you last have a good nights sleep?" Mom asked over the phone.
"Sweetie, you've been going non-stop for days, you must be exhausted." said Mom by my side.
Answering them both "It's been a while and yes I'm very tired. If it's okay, Mom, I'll talk to you again tomorrow."
"Yes, Dear, eight tomorrow morning, Dad and I will be waiting. Now go and get some sleep, I love you."
"I love you too. Take care, bye."
"Bye, to you too."
With that I clicked the end button and let the phone drop to my lap. The next thing I knew, Mom was gently tapping my shoulder and we were now parked in our garage. Groggily, I helped Mom take the bags from the car and, together, we brought them to the guest room. Then, after a quick goodnight, I changed and went to sleep.
Saturday was an uneventful day – busy, tiring, shop-til-you-drop hectic – but in comparison to the preceding week, a blessed relief. Quinn – true to Mom's prediction – was in her element and extremely helpful with clothing suggestions. If the conversation deviated from fashion, however, Quinn was more guarded; and whenever I would ask anything remotely personal Quinn became noticeably uncomfortable. But, since Quinn was, otherwise, talkative and pleasant, I figured this was understandable – due to the circumstances – and accepted it quietly.
Sunday, in contrast, was anything but uneventful. After a quiet morning spent, alone, reading Proverbs and in Prayer followed by a shower and cooking Breakfast I was, finally, joined by the rest of my family around eleven to eat. Then at Noon, as discussed on the phone the day before, Jane arrived to join Mom, Dad and I in our search for bedroom furniture. Since Dad had yet to return with the rental truck, Jane asked to see my bedroom for an idea what colors would work best. As we approached the bedroom door – knowing very well that my bedroom would appeal to Jane's artistic tastes, but wanting to tease her a bit – I paused a moment.
"now, Jane, don't expect too much from the room. The previous owners decorated with utility, not decor, in mind." With that said, I opened the door and stepped inside. When I sensed that Jane was no longer at my side, I turned and was rewarded with a, truly, Kodak moment; Jane – jaw agape – stood at the doorway awestruck.
"Morgendorffer, you're so lucky, this is – without a doubt – the coolest room I've ever seen! The walls are actually padded...and the bars in the windows...I'm beyond Jealous."
"So, I take it you think the room has possibilities?"
"Oh, yeah, you could say that, but first we need to take some measurements." Jane said this, as she stepped towards me, reaching into her right jacket pocket to reveal a small tape measure "Here, take the end and walk over to the far corner." There, standing with the tape at waist level, I held the tip flush to the corner as Jane jotted down reference points."First window four feet, width of window thirty inches..." After several minutes, holding the tape at various points in my room, Jane motioned for me to drop my end of the tape. Upon it's release, the tape slithered – like a snake – quickly back to it's home; then after returning it to her pocket, Jane retrieved a sketch book from her back pack and transferred the dimensions of my room to a two dimensional floor plan.
"Okay, plenty of room for furniture, let me jot down window height, door widths and colors of walls and floor; speaking of floor, you're going to need a carpet – room's twelve by sixteen – shouldn't be a problem...maybe in a wine, a plum, or – if we're lucky – a dark mauve...they'd match the gray padding..."
"Kiddo, if you and Jane are finished, Mom and I are ready to go; it's a forty-five minute drive to the store." Dad's call from downstairs interrupted Jane's decorating suggestions.
"We'd best head downstairs, I'd like for us to get at least the bed and a dresser in place today."
"Fine by me, I'd rather be choosing than suggesting anyway...let's go"
The ride took – due to traffic – every bit of an hour; since I had spent all of Saturday with Mom, it was decided that Jane and I should keep Dad company in the truck while Mom followed in her SUV. Passing the time, Jane used her sketched floor plan to explain how a bed, two dressers – a tall six drawer and a low six drawer, a book case and a work desk would all fit easily into the room. Jane also suggested that I look – mainly – at darker wood tones; otherwise, the muted gray of the padded walls would overpower the furniture. Once at the – what could only be described as massive – furniture store Jane's advice proved invaluable; since the selection of furniture proved to be as massive as the building that housed it.
"Okay, the directory shows, upstairs and third showroom in for bedroom furnishings." Stated my Mom as she came walking back to us from said directory.
"That's great, Mrs. Morgendorffer, but we need to see carpets first."
"But, Jane, carpets and flooring are downstairs on the way to furniture pick-up; doesn't it make better sense to go there last?"
"No, not if you want to be certain the furniture doesn't clash. Look, when you build a house you start from the ground up...right? It's the same designing a room; pick the color of the carpet first and the furniture will – almost – choose themselves."
"Wow, Jane-o, you really think so, choosing furniture is always so confusing to me. I remember wanting a white lacquer bedroom set for our first place, but noooo, Helen absolutely refused...never could understand why?"
"Jake! It was an apartment, the walls were white and the wall-to-wall carpet beige; Jane, help me out here."
"Well, Mr Morgendorffer, to put it simply the furniture should be in contrast to the walls and carpet; I'll bet you ended up with a dark cherry or walnut for the furniture. Right?"
"Yeah, Jane-o, dark cherry; see, I told you furniture confuses me."
"Mr. Morgendorffer, I take it that little "-o" you put at the end of my name is a term of endearment; my Brother – Trent – calls me Janey, so I guess Jane-o works...yeah, it works just fine. Daria, you, however will restrict yourself to plain Jane...no adornments, got it." Jane's smirk was simply wicked.
"Well, I was going to start calling you "Beatrix" but okay, now lead us to carpets, plain Jane."
Jane smirk barely changed, but with a faux pout in her voice: "Plain? Daria, I'll have you know, I'm anything but plain. Now, let's get some good sturdy hangers for your closet; I'm in a mood for leaving you hanging out somewhere to dry for that remark. We'll tell anyone that asks you're a piece of performance art."
"Art? Really Jane-o, Daria said you painted but I didn't know you did other kinds of art too; what were you thinking of doing again?" My word! Could Dad actually be so obtuse? Not missing a beat Jane continued:
"Well, Mr. Morgendorffer, either I'll roll Daria up in a carpet and call it crepe's Morgendorffer or suspend her by hangers as an homage to Peter Pan...can't tell yet how the mood will take me." With that said Jane took my Dad by the arm and lead him off in the direction indicated for carpets.
I don't know if Jane had planned it, but how she handled my Dad, really, impressed my Mom. As we looked at the twelve by sixteen carpets, I noticed a respectful look in my mom's gaze as Jane scrutinized the displays.
"Here, Daria, what do you think? Dark Mauve will give you at least five shades of wood tone to work with."
"I like it. You were right, even I can see how this color plays off the gray walls."
"Good, I'll write down the item number and we can get down to business."
Back upstairs, just as Jane told my Dad, the furniture seemed to pop out whenever I visualized that color. As Dad and Jane continued their discussion on color coordinating and I decided between three possible bed and dresser combos, Mom – I noticed – was frequently walking off to either answer or make calls on her cell phone. After, at least, the fourth call I quietly moved over to join her.
"Mom, what's going on? You've been on the phone quite a bit...anything wrong?"
"Possibly, seems the press release, instead of tonight as planned, occurred this morning; I've been speaking with the public relations reps from missing children bureau, state law enforcement and my office. We need to prepare for the arrival of media at any time."
"Why so quickly? The news was only released this morning."
"Well, Sweetie, according to the firms public relations officer, reporters have already called asking for confirmation that I work for the firm...that means – at least – some reporters know we're in Lawndale."
"Oh, I see. Should we go home and finish this another day?"
"No, let's finish, but let's not waste any time. I'd like us to be home before the press descends."
"I've decided on the furniture, we've already selected carpet, bedding and lighting: we should be out of here in less than an hour...okay?"
"I don't mean to rush your choice; you're certain it's what you want?"
"Yes, the furniture is all basically simple and form through function, all I was deciding on was the finish; I'm done, let me show you my choices."
I took Mom, after collecting Jane and Dad, over to show the selected pieces. As we headed down to the warehouse area to claim the items, Mom filled in Dad, while Jane and I discussed how to best arrange my room. Twenty minutes later, with dad pushing the – unassembled, surprisingly heavy – boxed furniture on a trolley and Jane and I each pushing a cart, we were just leaving the cashier and heading for the rental truck when Mom's cell phone rang. It was Quinn, from the way Mom was attempting to calm her down and the instructions she was giving to Quinn: something was, definitely, wrong. Finishing the call, Mom turned to face us:
"That was Quinn, there are several news vans and reporters park in front of our house. Let's get the truck loaded as quickly as possible and get going."
Five minutes later we were loaded and on the road home. As we entered Lawndale, this time with Mom in the lead, we stopped first at Jane's house. This – I found out – was for two reasons, to drop off Jane – saving her from the press, and to await a police escort to our house; Apparently, Mom had made several calls on the drive back with one, at least, being to the lawndale Police. Moments later – with two police cars as escort – our little caravan headed out and made it's way towards Glen Oaks Drive. As we turned onto Glen Oaks, there before us was an incredible sight; at least six vans – all painted with network logos and call letters, with tall antennas extended – were parked along both sides of the street in front of our home. Milling around the vans were possibly thirty people, some with cameras others with microphones; they were all there waiting for me...all I could think was: 'the nightmare begins'.
With Police assistance, we were able to get Mom's SUV into the garage and the truck behind it in the driveway. At that point I sat silently in the living room while Mom continued her phone calls from the Kitchen. Dad was in the process of taking Quinn and Stacey – with police escort – to Stacey's parents for the night and had yet to return. This left me alone to contemplate the situation; 'Why?' that was all I could think...'why was I so news worthy?' when Mom had used the phrase "media circus" I had envisioned some annoying phone calls and, possibly, TV interviews but nothing – even remotely – like this. The approaching sounds of Mom's shoes clicking against the kitchen floor meant that the planning was over.
"Okay, Sweetie, I've spoken with a very good public relations specialist from missing children bureau. His name is John Brown and he'll be here in twenty minutes. We'll discuss what questions to expect and then speak with the Press." When I didn't answer, Mom continued.
"Daria, I know this is unsettling but the sooner we deal with this circus the sooner this will end."
"This" I said waving my arm, agitatedly, towards the street "this isn't a circus, it's a horde, the barbarians at the gates...no, it's worse, it's sharks circling in the water...and I'm chum. Mom, tell me honestly...were you expecting this to be coming?"
"Yes, I was. Normally, in these circumstances, remains are identified and the press gathers around – like vultures – when the unfortunate family is notified; our circumstance is much rarer – you came to us alive and healthy – naturally, there would be a more pronounced media presence. You signify hope, a beginning not an end, obviously, that is news people want to hear."
"I guess- and this is just my selfishness – but I wanted to start back to school tomorrow and now that's not possible."
"Daria, of course it is. We're still going forward with registering you for school tomorrow."
"But how? With the Press and without any transcripts?"
"Simple, the press will not enter the school. Also, I never planned to offer any transcripts; nothing would lead the press to the Davidson's more quickly. You see, Daria, it'd be too easy for a reporter to pay someone ,with access to the files, for the information. Unfortunately, You'll have to test out for each subject but the benefits of holding back your Idaho transcripts is more than worth the inconvenience...don't you agree?"
"Mom, putting aside what Shakespeare has to say, right now, I'm so glad that you're a Lawyer. If not for all your planning, we'd be in an awful mess...wouldn't we?"
Smiling warmly, Mom replied: "probably..oh, and we shall speak no more of Shakespeare, okay?"
Our talk was interrupted by one of the Police officers opening the front door to escort a middle-aged gentleman who introduced himself as John Brown. Shortly thereafter Dad returned and Mr. Brown explained how the conference would be staged and handled. First, Mr. Brown would collect the press on our front lawn, then Mom, Dad and I would be called outside and we would take questions from the press for no more than fifteen minutes at which point the conference would end and the press would be asked to leave. Since there were Police officers present, Mr. Brown didn't believe there would be any issue dispersing the press at the conclusion of the conference. Mr. Brown, also, made it clear that I was not to answer any question unless either he or my Mom motioned for me to do so. We, meaning Dad and I, were not to talk about where I had been, we were not to give long, involved answers and we were – especially – not to comment on any possible legal issues: We were only interested in answering how happy the family was...the positive stuff. That would be, according to Mr. Brown, the filter he and my Mom would be using while fielding questions from the press. That said Mr. Brown went outside and, as we waited, I prayed silently that this would go smoothly and for guidance so that – when questioned – my answers would be satisfactory.
The press Conference did, indeed, go smoothly; this was due mainly to the fact that Mr. Brown was extremely experienced and, maintaining control at all times, skillfully manipulated what questions were accepted. Mom carefully answered any – appropriate – legal questions and, when given the opportunity, I answered – basically – how happy I was to be home. Mr. Brown had stressed, before we stepped outside, how important good posture and a confident smile would be and, sure enough, from the second we stepped outside until we returned back into the house there was not a second that a camera – still or video – was not in our faces. True to his word, at the fifteen minute mark, Mr. Brown said "last question" and ushered us inside the house.
After Mr. Brown had departed – but not before describing what we should expect over the next couple of weeks and concurring with Mom that starting school tomorrow was the best course of action, "Nothing will drive the press away faster than a family living a normal life" being his exact words – Mom and I were in the kitchen discussing the evening's activities.
"Daria, what do you have planned for the evening? I'm trying to set a time for dinner."
"Mom, I'd wouldn't mind waiting a couple of hours; that way, with Dad's help, we can get the truck unloaded and the boxes stored in my room. Hopefully, then we could get the bed and one of the dressers assembled today. That way after dinner I could put away my clothing and probably even sleep there tonight."
"You certainly don't believe in wasting time...you know, there's no need to hurry."
"Mom, we have no idea what might happen next week. Also, after this afternoon, I'd rather stay busy."
"Okay, that's understandable. It's five twenty would dinner at seven thirty give you enough time?"
"Yeah – it should – the bed doesn't require much assembly and the dresser might take an hour or so. If Dad and I don't waste any time laying down the carpet we should be ready by then."
"Good. Oh, and Daria, If you want to assemble the dresser right the first time keep your Father away from the instructions; trust me on this one, your Father has difficulties when it comes to spacial relationships. Otherwise, you might end up with something more resembling modern art than a dresser."
"Okay, I'll keep that in mind...Uhm, Mom, do you know why Quinn chose to leave and spend the night at Stacey's?"
"I'm not certain, but If I had to venture a guess, I'd say the stress of all the media – and she alone with Stacy to deal with it – was just too much...why, does her having left bother you?"
"Well, this is going to sound selfish, yes – at least a little bit. Today was stressful for me too and a little emotional support from my own Sister would have been, really, helpful. I don't know, Quinn has been uncomfortable around me and – it seemed to me – she was escaping me more than the press today."
"Daria, possibly, but not for the reasons your thinking. Quinn has been wanting her Sister to return; remember, she was only five when you left and had limited memories of you as a person. So, the abstract desire to find a Sister and the concrete reality of you the person – a flesh and blood reality – returning to us has been difficult for her to reconcile. Quinn's overwhelmed...that's all."
"You're probably right, Mom, maybe I'm expecting too much too soon. I just can't shake this nagging feeling that there's something more to it. I know that my coming home was sudden and has forced very quick changes in all our lives. Love is patient and I love Quinn unconditionally; so I'll wait til she's ready...there's not much else I can do."
The only response from Mom – as we left the kitchen to find Dad – was a sympathetic look. An hour later, the carpet in place and my bed assembled with Mattress and box spring, Dad and I were just starting with the dresser and Mom had returned to the kitchen to make dinner. Mom was correct about Dad's issues with spacial relationships; He, definitely, believed furniture assembly to be a trial and error process. As I read the directions and then fastened pieces together, with Dad holding said pieces in position, the dresser frame came slowly together. After the frame was done, and we had begun to assemble the drawers, Dad stopped – gave me a meaningful look – and asked:
"Daria, with everything that's happened, all the changes to your life, I'm curious: are you happy?"
The question was so sudden, unexpected and thought provoking I needed a moment to consider the answer. "Dad, I'm not sure if I've ever been happy...per se, for the last nine years I've been content with my life, but now with the opportunities before me – here in Lawndale – it's a possibility. I know you were hoping for a different answer; but that's the best I can do...sorry."
"No. That's fine for now. You have a positive outlook for your future here; I take it that Jane is a big part of that, right?"
"Dad...You, Mom and Quinn are the reason I came back; but, yes, Jane plays a not insignificant part in – as you've put it – my positive outlook. Honestly, I've never had such a close friend; actually, I've never really had a friend."
"Why, Daria, you're smart, responsible, honest...I can't believe you didn't have any friends at all."
"Dad, let's just say, by the time I got over myself – stopped worrying about how much I knew and realized how little I, actually, knew – I'd alienated all the kids back in Idaho; you already knew how well I got along with the other kids in Highland. Now, only four days in Lawndale and I already have a close friend, I've got every reason to be optimistic."
As we continued with the drawers, Dad was quiet but the look on his face was calmer and by seven thirty the dresser was complete and we were downstairs checking on dinner. After everything we were famished – so hungry – even the micro-wave lasagna waiting on the table smelled good. By eleven all my clothing was either hanging in my closet or folded in the dresser and I was showered, changed and laying in bed. As I drifted off to sleep thoughts of tomorrow and all it's possibilities floated at the edge of my consciousness. 'Yes, Dad, indeed, I just might learn what it is to be happy...at least it's a possibility.'
To be continued...