She stood beside me with paper-thin, stringy hair and dingy clothes. At eleven years old, this little girl, born of poverty and despair, carried misery in her eyes. I had been told of her history prior to meeting her and listened aghast as the details of her life were unfolded before me.

She lived with her mom, her dad and sisters in a three-sided cabin up on the mountain. No plumbing, no electricity no heat. The children slept on hay loosely strewn on the ground covered with blankets. The parents when they were home slept on a ratty old mattress on the dirt floor.

When her father did come home, Elle would run to the forest and hide in a “special place.” No one knew where that place was. They all looked for her from time to time without success soon giving up the search.

Once her father would leave, she would come out of the forest and take her place once again with her family.

Elle was considered a “high risk” child. Chosen out of seven other people to be her mentor, my assignment they told me was to find a common bond with her.

So now we stood, across from each other, sizing each other up. I spoke first introduced myself and motioned we should probably sit down. Awkwardly I managed to lower my 6’ frame into an elementary school chair. She sat opposite me watching my actions closely. When I slid a wrapped package across the table towards her, she eyed it suspiciously as if it was a snake and would bite her.

“What is this?” she asked.
“It’s yours Elle; it’s a present, go on and open it.”

Hesitantly she picked it up and tore a corner of the paper. I had never seen a child so in control when in came to unwrapping a gift. I wanted to reach across the table and rip the paper off for her, but I restrained myself.

Finally she finished her methodical stripping of the wrappings and before her sat a brightly colored journal. Her eyes lit up in surprise and she stroked the binding in wonder and whispered, “Is it really mine?” I assured her it was and handed her a pen. We spent the first hour together easily after that for the ice had been broken. I had found her passion, which she shared with me. She loved to write. She told me about all the forest creatures and spoke of the trees in the woods near her home as if they were her friends. When I asked her why she spent so much time in the trees, her response tugged my heart…”Trees don’t hurt me,” she whispered.

The next week when we met, she asked me to help her write a story. She wanted to write about an eagle’s nest she had found in the mountains. The nest was empty, but she wanted me to help her fill it with life in her story.I told her I would be honored then set about recieving special permission to have her come visit me at home.

She and I sat side-by-side as I introduced her to my computer. She dictated the story, while I typed it. Elle presented a story full of imagination. Throughout that session, she began to open up more to me. Surprised, I learned she had never been to a mall, or a theatre! She spent all her spare time at school in the library reading through stacks of books. After we finished her story and printed it out, I asked her if she would like to go see a movie with me. Her eyes lighting up with delight she agreed. Lion King was playing at the mall in Eugene, so off we went.

I could live to be one-hundred and I will never forget her face when she first glimpsed the mall. It was a combination of a child’s first sight of Mickey Mouse at Disneyland (where I used to work) combined with the look on a child’s face when they rode their first bicycle. Overcome by the grandness of the interior of the mall, she wanted to look in all the shops. Hand in hand we raced into one store after another as she wanted to see everything. Hard for me to grasp that this child had never even seen a mall. At first I thought she wanted to just lead me to believe she hadn’t been, but her wonder was to genuine and my heart broke for her at what she had missed.

As we weaved in and out of the stores she suddenly became quite shy and shrank against me. Puzzled, I looked down at her and saw that she was close to tears.

“What’s wrong?” I asked her. Elle looked at me, then at the people milling around, and trembling she pointed a shaky finger at her faded dress, the socks that came down around her ankles, to large for her and the rest of her hand-me-downs. I suddenly understood, she was ashamed of her appearance.

Forgoing the movie we went shopping. She tried on so many clothes I thought they were going to throw us out of the store. But when I told the sales lady quietly about this first outing, there were suddenly racks of dresses and pants and shirts for her to try on. She finally settled on a sea-green top with flared skirt, and other items of clothing little girls must have. I also allowed her to pick out something for her two sisters and her mom. She refused to get something for her dad. Then we took a quick trip to the car stowing the treasures away for her sisters. She was wearing what she had picked out for her, along with the necklace she had chosen for her mom. Then we went into the theatre and she watched her first motion picture, and filled up on popcorn and soda. A very satisfying day for me and a day filled with magic for her.

She would tell me later that when her father returned home that night, he took all the new items away from his family and threw them in the river. She fled to the forest and hid till he left.

In the four months of our friendship, this little one opened my eyes to the innocence of a child. She would sit on the ground in my garden and spin stories about talking trees and flying bushes, or sit on the stoop and read out loud to the animals. A break-through day was her inviting me to her house and after I got there she led me carefully to her secretive safe spot in the forest. Carved on the trees that surrounded this place in a sort of protective circle were her renditions of my horses, cats, dogs and myself. I was honored that I touched her heart, for she certainly had touched mine.

One afternoon waiting for her at the school, I was called in to the principal’s office. I admit to having butterflies in my stomach as I hastened toward the office door. Once inside, I was told some sobering news. Elle’s father had spent the day before sharpening his knife the entire day and telling his frightened family that once the mom got home, he was going to kill not only the mother but all of them! I was stunned, and fearful I whispered “Where is Elle?”

Elle, the principal explained had run from the house, but instead of heading for the woods, she turned and ran for the road. It was dark and her mom was due home any minute, she had to save her.Thankfully she found a caring stranger who called the authorities. The father had been arrested, and the mom was gone, taking all the children with her. No one knew where she was and it was likely I would never see Elle again. I walked out of the office on lead feet and sat in my car and cried. For the loss of the innocent young girl who was denied the basic comforts of love and a solid family and even all the extras that so many of us tend to take for granted.

When I got home, there was message blinking on my machine. As I clicked play, I heard a child’s voice whispering. I couldn’t make out what she was saying, so I turned the volume up and listened closely….”Tell the garden good-bye..” Elle’s voice quite tearful said. Then there was a click, she had hung up.

Every year since in the summer as I plant a new garden, my thoughts drift back to this waif of a girl who blossomed under love and laughter in my home, and my tears fall on the waiting seeds under the soil. My heart aches for that little girl who would sit so patiently in the midst of the lettuce, radishes and onions, weaving her stories of escape and fantasy. I don’t know where she is now. I hope she is in a better place. I hope they grow gardens there.