Meris sat cradling the heavy warmth of the sleeping child. She felt healing flow through her own body and closed her eyes in silent thanksgiving before she put her down, well back from the edge of the bed. Then she gathered up the armful of wet muddy clothes and reached for the box of detergent.
When Mark returned some time later, Meris gestured quickly. “She’s sleeping,” she said. “Oh, Mark! Just think! A baby!” Tears came to her eyes and she bent her head.
“Meris,” Mark’s gentle voice lifted her face. “Meris, just don’t forget that the baby is not ours to keep.”
“I know-I” She began to protest and then she smoothed the hair back from her forehead, knowing what Mark wanted to save her from. “The baby is not ours-to keep,” she relinquished. “Not ours to keep. Did you find anything, or anyone,” she hesitated.
“Nothing,” said Mark. “Except the top of our pine is still there, if you’ve bothered to check it. And,” his face tightened and his voice was grim, “those vandals have been at it again. Since I was at the picnic area at Beaver Bend they’ve been there and sawed every table in two and smashed them all to the ground in the middle!”
“Oh, Mark!” Meris was distressed. “Are you sure it’s the same bunch?”
“Who else around here would do anything so senseless?” asked Mark. “It’s those kids. If I ever catch them-“
“You did once,” said Meris with a half smile, “and they didn’t like what you and the ranger said to them.”
“Understatement of the week,” said Mark. “They’ll like even less what’s going to happen to them the next time they get caught.”
“They’re mad enough at you already,” suggested Meris.
“Well,” said Mark, “I’m proud to count that type among my enemies!”
“The Winstel boy doesn’t seem the type,” said Meris.
“He was a good kid,” acknowledged Mark, “until he started running with those three from the Valley. They’ve got him hypnotized with that car and all their wild stories and crazy pranks. I guess he thinks their big-town fooling around has a glamor that can’t be duplicated here in the mountains. Thank heaven it can’t, but I wish he’d wise up to what’s happening to him.”
“The child!” Meris started toward the bed, her heart throbbing suddenly to the realization that there was a baby to be considered again. They looked down at the flushed, sleeping face and then turned back to the table. “She must he about three or four,” said Meris over the coffee cups. “And healthy and well cared for. Her clothes-” she glanced out at the clothes line where the laundry billowed and swung “they’re well-made, but “
“But what?” Mark stirred his coffee absently, then gulped a huge swallow.
“Well, look,” said Meris, reaching to the chair. “This outer thing she had on. It’s like a trundle bundle-arms but no legs-just a sleeping bag thing. That’s not too surprising, but look. I was going to rinse off the mud before I washed it, hut just one slosh in the water and it came out clean-and dry! I didn’t even have to hang it out. And Mark, it isn’t material. I mean fabric. At least it isn’t like any that I’ve ever seen.”
Mark lifted the garment, flexing a fold in his fingers.
“Odd,” he said.
“And look at the fasteners,” said Meris.
“There aren’t any,” he said, surprised.
“And yet it fastens,” said Meris, smoothing the two sections of the front together, edge to edge. She tugged mightily at it. It stayed shut. “You can’t rip it apart. But look here.” And she laid the two sides back gently with no effort at all.
“It seems to be which direction you pull. There’s a rip here in the back,” she went on. “Or I’ll bet she’d never have got wet at all-at least not from the outside,” she smiled. “Look, the rip was from here to here.” Her fingers traced six inches across the garment. “But look-” She carefully lapped the edges of the remaining rip and drew her thumb nail along it.
The material seemed to melt into itself and the rip was gone.
“How did you find out all this so soon?” asked Mark. “Your own research lab?”
“Maybe so,” smiled Meris. “I was just looking at it-women look at fabrics and clothing with their fingers, you know. I could never choose a piece of material for a dress without touching it. And I was wondering how much the seam would show if I mended it.” She shook the garment.
“But how she ever managed to run in it.”
“She didn’t,” said Mark. “She sort of fluttered around like a chicken. I thought she was a feathered thing at first. Every time I thought I had her, she got away, flopping and fluttering, above my head half the time. I don’t see how she ever-Oh! I found a place that might be where she spent the night. Looks like she crawled back among the roots of the deadfall at the bend of the creek. There’s a pressed down, grassy hollow, soggy wet, of course, just inches above the water.”
“I don’t understand this fluttering bit,” said Meris. “You mean she jumped so high you-“
“Not exactly jumped-” began Mark.
A sudden movement caught them both. The child had wakened, starting up with a terrified cry, “Muhlala! Muhlala!”
Before Meris could reach her, she was fluttering up from the bed, trailing the chenille robe beneath her. She hovered against the upper windowpane, like a moth, pushing her small hands against it, sobbing, “Muhlala! Muhlala!”
Meris gaped up at her. “Mark! Mark!”
“Not exactly-jump!” grunted Mark, reaching up for the child. He caught one of the flailing bare feet and pulled the child down into his arms, hushing her against him.
