Foster Forest (1): Setting the Groundwork (Elizabeth's Arrival)

There was a headache brewing behind her eyes like a storm. They always came slowly, and although none had ever progressed to the status of "migraine" she had, in the past, often gone to bed with one of her headaches. When she was a teenager, the headaches were always worse around term time, and she'd struggled for acceptance to university based on her absences from her high school.

Tension, and sometimes exasperation, caused the headaches. Today's headache was caused by the stress of an expected new arrival, the end result of months of frustrating back and forth with the relevant departments. The tug-of-war had finally ended two months ago when an agreement was reached. Rebecca Thomas and her home for unwanted children would fly below the radar. She would be the one asking the questions, and as long as her system worked, nobody would complain.

She had faith that things would work out fine in the end. She'd fought for her organization and for the children she knew would soon follow. She have been able to relax, but she felt a deep sense of disquiet as she considered the manila file folder on her desk.

With one finger, she flipped it open, the fingers of her opposite hand massaging her temples as the headache threatened to spread. Inside the folder was a photograph of a blonde haired little girl along with three sheets of paper. The first was the case worker's notes, which had clearly been kept to a minimum. The second was a report from the child's last doctor's appointment, and the third was the results of her psychological profile. The file told Becky absolutely nothing.

She'd accepted the application robotically, without thinking. It had taken two months for the first caseworker to make an application and she'd begun to worry that she would fail, even after all the work that she had done. Justine Hodges had put her faith in Becky and the Forest Home, and even if the young redhead couldn't understand the case worker's reasoning, she had chosen to extend herself toward Elizabeth Moore.

Now, two weeks after accepting the application, Becky was worried. There was very little information and the case worker had done little to be in contact with Becky. She was agitated and more than a little bit suspicious.

The home existed in order to help children who were considered a "problem" in traditional homes. She had equipped her home to handle the toughest youngsters and desired for it to be a place where they could receive both the discipline and the love that they didn't get from traditional foster placements. Whatever Elizabeth could dish out, Becky could handle. She was confident.

The internal struggle only began when Becky realized that there was nothing at all to suggest that Elizabeth as a "problem child." The child was ten years old and had been through four homes in the past three years (a good track record, in Becky's mind). Elizabeth was healthy according to her most recent check up, and there were no psychological problems to speak of. Even where Becky might have expected trauma, the psychologist reported it strangely absent.

She had to cease to be suspicious of the little girl. The child would be arriving within the next three hours. Becky flipped the file closed and put it back in her cabinet, where she hoped it would multiply into more applications. For now, she had to swallow the feeling that she was being tested, and make sure that everything was ready for the ten year-old.

***

It only took half an hour for Becky to check through the upstairs rooms, ensuring that everything was in place to receive a ten year-old girl. The expansive cabin had three floors that could house up to twelve children in single rooms. She had set up the rooms on the first floor to house girls, and the rooms on the second floor for boys. The rooms came sparsely furnished so that the children could add their own personal touches to them. After all, Becky hoped that the placements would be permanent, and she wanted the children to be comfortable.

So far it was only Becky. She had hired on no staff members to help her to care for the children who would be coming into the care of the Forest Home. She was beginning to realize that it would be difficult to get children settled by herself once there were more than one. She would need to step up her recruiting efforts.

Convinced that things were settled adequately upstairs, Becky made her way back down into the large great room. The reception area was toward the front of the building. A large desk, reminiscent of hotel receiving desks, stood a few yards back from the front door, and on the south side of the room a stone fireplace stood invitingly.

Becky went to the fireplace, stooping to light the fresh kindling that she had placed earlier that morning. There was still a definite chill in the air even in April and she knew that the fire would give an inviting appearance. Perhaps she could make some cocoa for Elizabeth and spend some time getting to know the girl here, before she showed the child her room.

For the first time, Becky was beginning to realize that she had no experience whatsoever in settling children into a new environment. She'd hoped that the case workers would offer some kind of support and encouragement, but so far Mrs. Hodges had been anything but forthcoming.

Sighing, Becky settled in on the couch in front of the fireplace, letting her head fall back against the back of the sofa, her green eyes drifting shut. She would be meeting her new charge in less than two hours, but everything was done. She could do with a little bit of a rest. She hadn't slept well the previous night and had been up early in the morning to take care of her horse.

***

"Hello? Ms. Thomas?"

Becky's eyes flew open, her head rising as she blinked in confusion. She hadn't intended to fall asleep, and the voice was, at first, foreign to her. It took a moment for her to realize that she'd heard the voice on the phone before, and another moment to compose herself enough so that she could rise to her feet.

Justine Hodges stood in front of the reception desk with a little girl. The child's hand held tightly to the social worker, and there were two plastic grocery bags on the floor at their feet.

Becky smoothed her skirt down over her thighs and reached up to test her hair. The bun had fallen to the side, and she quickly released her hair from its band, letting the auburn waves fall loose around her shoulders. Finally satisfied, she approached the desk and offered what she hoped was a bright smile. The child appeared to recoil.

"I'm so sorry," Becky said in a low, calm tone of voice. "I must have dozed off in front of the fire. It's so cozy there. I hope you haven't been waiting very long."

Finally, her eyes met those of the case worker. The woman's blue eyes were somehow steely, and her mouth was set in a grim line. "You might have chosen a better spot for your home," she said, her voice kept low. Becky could tell that it was with a great deal of determination that she kept the tone neutral and calm. Already there was some animosity between them. That certainly wasn't the way that she liked to start things out.

The social worker continued to stand with her back straight, not letting go of the child's hand. "It took me over an hour to find this place," she said firmly. "You may want to be sure that in the future a case worker has better directions, or you aren't going to be very successful."

Becky gritted her teeth and calmly nodded her head, reining in her red-headed temper and her desire to snap back. "Please, won't you come in and sit down? I can make us some hot cocoa. It is such a brisk day outside."

"I can't stay," Mrs. Hodges said shortly, pulling her hand from the child's grasp. The little girl let out a quick breath, and Becky glanced toward her again, then sighed and shook her head.

"I had hoped to speak to you," Becky said, her own patience beginning to evaporate quickly. "The information that you have provided for me is... Insufficient," she added quickly.

The case worker tossed her head and reached down to pick up her case. When her steely gaze met Becky's again, the younger woman knew that the discussion was over. "I have a hearing to attend. Had I not wasted so much time trying to find this place, I might have had a few moments to spare. As it is, however, you will need to call my office to make an appointment. Good day, Ms. Thomas."

Becky gritted her teeth, but her nod wasn't noticed as Mrs. Hodges clipped out the front door at a speedy pace, apparently eager to get out of the cabin.

Glancing down at Elizabeth's meager belongings, Becky sighed and shook her head, reaching down to pick up both bags and place them on the desk, off the floor. The ten year-old blonde girl followed Becky's every movement, though the woman was satisfied that the child didn't appear to be afraid.

There was a long moment of awkward silence. Becky felt entirely inadequate. What was she supposed to say to the girl? She was hoping that the case worker would help to smooth over the awkwardness, but she'd rushed out so quickly that Becky was at a loss for how to do the introductions.

"You're Elizabeth..." she said, feeling uncomfortable.

"You're Becky..." Elizabeth said in return, her dark brown eyes seeming to bore into Becky.

The woman shifted from one foot to the other and nodded her head slightly. "Yes. Would you like a cup of hot cocoa or would you prefer to go straight to you room?"

The ten year-old cast her gaze aside and shrugged her shoulders stiffly. "I'll see my room, I guess," she said.

Disappointed, Becky struggled to swallow past the strange lump forming in her throat. Her headache was gone, but she suddenly felt entirely helpless in her efforts to make a ten year-old girl feel at home at the Forest Home for Boys and Girls. How much more difficult would it be when there were more children? she wondered.

She would settle Elizabeth in to her room, and hopefully they would be able to talk over dinner. She would order a pizza, so that Elizabeth's first night wouldn't be ruined by having to eat her cooking!

***

Becky couldn't have imagined three more intense days if she'd used every ounce of her imagination. Regardless of what the files said, Elizabeth had her fair share of problems, and it felt as though she'd spent three days taking them out on Becky. The woman had been busily taking notes: so many, in fact, that she had taken to carrying a small notebook around with her everywhere she went. Elizabeth seemed to ignore the note taking, as though it was the most normal thing in the world. Becky wasn't sure whether or not that should disturb her.

After three days with Elizabeth in the house, Becky was fed up. She'd vowed that she could take on anything, that any behavioral problem was something she could deal with. She hadn't counted on a child's refusal to eat, or the stony silence that she faced whenever she made a direct command. Somehow she hadn't thought through the training process that would ultimately lead to obedience. She hadn't considered exactly how she was going to feel when it became necessary for her to deal with a behavioral issue. After all, she'd never actually disciplined anyone before. Her ideas -- her values -- were only good until they were put to the test, and that was where she'd been falling short.

Supper was on the table. Becky had gone through a great deal of effort to prepare a meal that she was certain Elizabeth should like and should be willing to eat. She was serving spaghetti, with meatballs separate, so that the meal could be vegan, or kosher, or any other diet that the child may prefer. There were no notes in the file to indicate that gluten was off the table, and Becky only hoped that the ten year-old would be hungry enough to at least try to eat something she'd prepared. She could only starve herself for so long, after all.

Becky put the bowl of pasta into the oven to stay warm, and then headed up the stairs to the first floor. She knocked on Elizabeth's door, and then pushed it open when she didn't get a response from the little girl. "Elizabeth?" she said, struggling to keep her voice calm and low. "Supper is on the table. You need to come down and eat."

"No."

The arguments had been getting stronger and more difficult for Becky to tolerate. Twice already she had nearly snapped out at the girl in anger, and now she once again had to rein in her emotions. "Elizabeth Jean Moore, you are going to come downstairs and eat your supper tonight. That's the end of the story." Becky stepped out of the doorway and stood to the side, waiting for Elizabeth to follow her out into the hall so that she could lead the child into the dining room.

"I'm not hungry!" Elizabeth retorted from her bed.

Something soft but heavy hit the door frame, and Becky felt the heat rising to her cheeks. The anger was becoming increasingly difficult for her to control, and she was very aware that she was going to snap sooner or later, and wind up punishing the little girl in frustration and exasperation rather than out of the love that Elizabeth needed.

Becky took a deep breath and gazed into the room, her green-eyed gaze hard on Elizabeth. "Young lady, you have a choice. You may either come down to the dining room with me -- and eat -- or you can have your backside warmed up with my hairbrush. The choice is entirely up to you, of course, but that is your choice. There is no third option."

Becky was about to turn from the room and head downstairs, giving Elizabeth some time to make her decision, but the bitter words from the child in the bedroom stopped her in her tracks, making her blood run cold. "I hate you."

Slowly, the young woman turned around, her green eyes narrowing as she looked into the bedroom. Elizabeth was now standing on her feet beside the bed, her small hands clenched into fists as she glared. "I hate you!" she repeated.

Becky didn't think. She didn't stop to check her anger levels, but strode into the room in four long strides, her strong right hand tearing across Elizabeth's cheek hard enough to make the girl stumble back slightly in surprise. Becky didn't even stop to realize what she had done, but reached for the wooden hairbrush on the night table and sat down on the bed, pulling Elizabeth toward her by the waistband on her pants. The child put up very little resistance as Becky tugged her jeans and then her panties down to her ankles and yanked the slender body down over her lap.

She didn't speak. There was too much anger for Becky to lecture, and she didn't have the words anyway. Never in her life had anyone told her that they hated her, and the tears stung her eyes so that she had to blink them back. Anger was quickly giving way to a deep emotional pain, but she pushed it back as she raised the brush and began to spank the little girl firmly.

Becky used the hairbrush firmly, but without harshness. The spanking was steady, with a pause of five seconds or more between blows. At first the little body was stiff and still beneath her securing left arm, but after only a few smacks of the wooden brush, the child began to squirm. "I hate you," she breathed again through clenched teeth.

"I'm sure that you do hate me right now," Becky said, her words surprising herself. Her voice didn't sound like her own, and she recognized that her teeth were clenched. Forcing herself to relax, Becky continued with the spanking, realizing now that her anger was beginning to fade, and that she was, indeed, spanking Elizabeth for all the right reasons.

"It's easy to hate somebody you don't know," Becky said, her voice firm. She made no effort to be gentle with Elizabeth, knowing that there would be time enough for that later. "You haven't given me so much as a chance, young lady. I don't know what is going on with you, but I can't help you unless you tell me."

Again Becky fell silent, and for a long time the only sounds in the room were the stiff brush rising and falling against Elizabeth's tender bottom and the soft cries of pain the child allowed to escape. Although the ten year-old twisted over her lap, her struggles weren't earnest, and she made no effort to cover her sore bottom. If it wasn't for the fact that the girl was beginning to sob, Becky might have thought that the child didn't feel the spanking at all.

"Leave me alone!" Elizabeth cried suddenly. The stiffness in her body drained, and the little girl covered her face with both of her hands, hiding behind them as she sobbed. "Let me go. Leave me alone."

Becky stopped. If it was only the words alone, she might have gone on for another minute or so, but there was something broken about the tone of voice that had the young woman stopping in her tracks and setting the hairbrush down beside her. Instantly she felt sorry that she'd leapt to punish in the first place, but she steeled herself, tucking the child's body up closer to her own, her left arm wrapped around the girl's waist.

"I am not going to leave you alone," Becky said, her tone low, her speech slow and distinct. "You are going to come downstairs and eat some supper with me, and you are going to tell me what this is all about. That's your choice, or we can come right back up here and I can continue to spank your bottom for you. The choice is yours."

Elizabeth pushed herself up off Becky's lap, her brown eyes downcast as she reached for her panties, pulling them up with a wince, and then for her jeans. She hesitated for a moment before buttoning them and doing the zipper up.

Sensing that the conflict was over, Becky rose and put the hairbrush on the dresser, reaching out and putting a gentle hand on Elizabeth's shoulder. "I made Spaghetti for supper," she said, her voice gentle. "Meatballs on the side if you want them."

Nodding her head, Elizabeth moved into line behind Becky, keeping her eyes on the floor. Surreptitiously she rubbed at her backside, testing the soreness. Becky glanced at the girl out of the corner of her eye and couldn't help but smile. She'd done the same on many occasions when she had been Elizabeth's age.

In the dining room, Becky gestured for Elizabeth to sit down. For three days the little girl had sat in the same seat, resisting her meals. Becky sighed and shook her head. Some parents might have provided a pillow for the child to sit on, but Becky hadn't been raised that way, and she recognized that the spanking had been necessary. After all, it had done its work quite well.

A moment later the food was on the table, and Becky sat down, offering up a short prayer of thanksgiving before dishing the pasta and sauce onto the plates. Elizabeth still wasn't meeting her eyes, and Becky sighed as she moved the pasta bowl out of the way and reached across the table to touch the child's hand with her fingertips. "Elizabeth," she said softly. "It's only you and me. I want you to talk to me." She hadn't been able to get in touch with the social worker, and Elizabeth's behavior was so baffling that Becky realized there was only one way that she was going to get to the bottom of the issue -- if Elizabeth herself told the woman what was going on.

The ten year-old picked up her fork and played with it, stabbing it into the pasta and then twisting blindly. She sighed and bit her lower lip. Becky couldn't meet her eyes to read the expression there, and she found herself becoming increasingly frustrated. On the verge of giving up, she was surprised when Elizabeth popped the spaghetti into her mouth and chewed for a moment before saying "I don't want to talk about it."

Becky took a deep breath. The headache was beginning at her temples again, and she reached up, briefly pressing both of her index fingers to her forehead and closing her eyes. Silently she prayed for the strength to make it through this challenge, and then she lowered her hands and looked deeply at Elizabeth. "Nobody is talking, Elizabeth. Not you, not Mrs. Hodges, or your shrink. I don't know what is going on with you, but I'm going to find out, even if that means paddling your bare bottom every day for the next month."

A moment of tension followed, and Becky wished that she'd said nothing. She was getting nowhere, and she was useless with this child. How was she supposed to help a child she knew nothing about? The social worker wasn't returning her calls, and she'd been unable to get another appointment with the psychologist until the first of May. Information on the previous foster placements was confidential and therefore restricted from her. Things were not progress, well or otherwise.

"They promised." It was a muffled statement that made Becky wonder if she'd heard the words at all. She cocked her head slightly to the side and listened for a moment as Elizabeth stabbed at her spaghetti again and slurped up a long noodle, eating slowly and with what appeared to be satisfaction. When she was finished chewing, she spoke again, louder. "They promised they were going to keep me. Forever. They lied. You lie too. All grown ups do."

For a moment Becky sat in stunned silence. She'd never planned on having children like this. No, she'd expected the rejects, the children that parents didn't want because there were behavioral problems. She'd managed to convince herself, for however short a period of time, that Elizabeth might have an eating disorder or an attitude problem that had made the previous four homes give up on her. Instead, it appeared that she was the "victim" of a failed adoption. Why wasn't that in her file?

Becky slowly took a bite of her spaghetti and chewed thoughtfully. Finally she swallowed and looked at Elizabeth, nodding her head in affirmation. "Okay," she said carefully. "You can work on the assumption that everything I say is a lie. We'll see how far it gets you. In the meantime, I'm choosing to trust you to tell me the truth. I can't help you if you don't. Are we clear then?"

The tears bloomed even before Elizabeth put her fork down on the table. She didn't drop it, but set it down carefully, staring into her plate. The tears began to fall one by one, spattering on the place mat beneath her plate.

At a loss, Becky didn't know what to do. They had not been bonding well, and she wasn't sure that either of them would be comfortable with a display of affection. Her heart went out to the child, who had only just now taken a big step by eating even a portion of her meal. The woman had punished harshly and the child had withstood. The red mark on her cheek was already fading, and Becky knew that it wouldn't be long before the pain in her bottom was only a memory as well.

Her appetite gone, Becky moved to clear the table of the remains of the meal. She carried the food back into the kitchen and put it into storage containers in the refrigerator, where it would sit with the other remains of meals that Elizabeth had refused to eat. A moment later, she came back into the dining room. Elizabeth was still sitting where Becky had left her, the tears rolling down her cheeks. She had pushed the plate of spaghetti away, but not before eating a bit more of it.

Becky nodded her head slightly and put her hand on Elizabeth's shoulder. "Why don't we go into the great room and sit in front of the fire for a while?" she asked. "I can make some cocoa if you like. You can tell me about your family."

The ten year-old gave a short nod of her head and stood up, moving slowly toward the fireplace. Becky watched as she glanced over her shoulder, and then the woman sighed softly. She shook her head and followed after her young charge, kneeling in front of the fireplace to place the kindling and then to light the fire.

When Becky turned around, Elizabeth was curled up in a corner of the sofa, her knees drawn up to her chest. Her eyes were dry now, but Becky could tell that she was fragile. She reached out and patted the little girl on the knee. "I'll be right back. Do you like milk in your cocoa?"

"Okay," Elizabeth said, and Becky took that as an affirmative.

A few minutes later, when Becky had two cups of cocoa in her hands, she stood back to observe Elizabeth as the child stared into the fire. For days she'd been despondent, but Becky had failed to see it, instead observing the disobedience with the child's refusal to eat. She felt angry with herself that she hadn't taken the time to get to know what was going on in the girl's head, and even angrier that she had punished the child out of frustration rather than love.

Could she learn to love this child? She'd always thought that love would come naturally, if not easily. She had never imagined that she would struggle with getting to know a child, or that she wouldn't automatically want to reach out to them. She hadn't expected things to be so hard, and Elizabeth didn't deserve to be an experiment.

Sighing, Becky walked back to the fireplace and set the cups down on the hearth. She turned and sat down on the sofa next to Elizabeth and patted the girl on the knee, opening her arms for the ten year-old. "Come here," she said. Her tone was slightly stiff, just a little bit uncomfortable as she offered herself to the girl who had been so soundly punished just over an hour ago.

But where Becky was stiff, Elizabeth was a natural. She was a child, and in spite of how hurt she'd been in the past, she was inclined toward trust. Moving smoothly, she fitted herself into Becky's arms and pressed her face against the woman's shoulder. The tears came quickly.

Startled, Becky wasn't sure at first how to react. Her body seemed to move accordingly, however, and her hands went to Elizabeth's back, rubbing gently, smoothing the damp blond hair back from the girl's face. "Okay," she said. "Okay... Okay..." she repeated over and over again, unsure what she was supposed to say. She wouldn't apologize for spanking the child: Elizabeth had needed it. She couldn't account for the parents who had given the little girl up, so she left that subject to dangle as well.

"Liz... Papa called me Liz," the girl said, drawing back and wiping her nose on her sleeve. "Everybody else called me 'lizabeth, 'cept the one guy -- he called me 'Beth.' I hated that. Don' call me Beth."

Becky nodded slowly, processing the information as well as the apparent swing in moods, making a mental note to write that down later on. She reached out, brushing a tear from Liz's cheek. "Liz," she said, her voice quiet and solemn. "How about we drink our cocoa, and maybe we can watch a movie together. I'll let you pick," she added with a slight grin.

It was progress. That, at least, made Becky hopeful.