"Well, ya can't just set around," Angela said like a true Southie. "Ya gotta see some of what makes Boston a really great place."

Kevin was baffled when I told him how we'd taken off with this total stranger (we realized the next day we'd forgotten to mention our names!) and that this unusual person had set her own life aside for the day in order to tromp all over the city with us. Angela and Anna were kindred spirits from the get-go, nerd girls at heart, who were both fascinated by the Freedom Trail, especially Paul Revere's house and the Old North Church where the warning lanterns were hung. Over the next few years, Angela and her family became part of our family, and she was there for us during many of those Boston trips. She helped take us through the train system, opened her home so that we would have a place to lay our heads, and, most important, she always made Anna smile. She gave us a way to look forward to those trips, which could have been pretty gloomy occasions.

So many people have come to our rescue over the years. Kevin's parents, my parents, our siblings and friends and fellow prayer warriors. My high school cla.s.smates pooled funds and made a desperately needed contribution to Anna's medical fund. Our church provided us with a spiritual sanctuary and a powerful support network. For every medical person who failed us or judged us or just plain didn't care, there were ten others who were dedicated and compa.s.sionate and restored our faith. It's a wonder how G.o.d uses us as instruments of peace in each other's lives-if only we make ourselves available to give and to receive. Giving takes energy and commitment. Receiving takes a big ol' bucket of get-over-yourself; you've got to swallow your pride sometimes, let go of the controls, and just be grateful when somebody throws you a rope.

MY HEART POUNDED WITH the beating of the helicopter blades. Word came down the ladder that Anna was only a foot or two below the grotto opening now, dangling just out of Mike's reach. Anna hadn't said a word until they brought her up to that point, but now she was chatting away. Tristan and Mike were talking to her about this and that, and she was being very Anna. Calm and friendly.

"In fact, they said she was being remarkably calm," Kevin told me later. "Said it was almost eerie."

With red and amber lights flashing, the Cleburne engine rounded the turnoff and jounced over the field to join the other emergency vehicles. Within a minute, the Briaroaks crew had them up to speed, setting up the taller ladder and rigging the pulley that would bring Anna out into the moonlight.

High in the tree, Mike was talking to her, trying to engage her to see if she seemed coherent.

"Almost home, Anna. You're almost home."

"Okay."

"How are you doing, Annabel? You doing okay?"

"Yes, thank you."

"Anna, talk to me. Tell me... hey, tell me what you like to watch on TV."

"I like Disney Channel."

"Disney Channel, huh? Yeah," said Mike. "My daughter watches Disney Channel, I think. I think she likes Hannah Montana. You like Hannah Montana?"

"That show was canceled about a year ago," said Anna.

"Oh. Okay. Hmm. Did you know that, Tristan? That Hannah Montana got canceled?"

"We like H2O: Just Add Water," Anna said amiably. "It's about these three girls in Australia, and the thing is that they turn into mermaids when they contact water, and when Abbie and Adelynn and me play H2O in the pool, I'm always Cleo."

"Ah. I see. Okay. Anna, I need you to be still for just a little longer. Just sit tight and don't move around. I know it's been a long time, but we're waiting for the other ladder to get in place, and then we'll swing you right out here to me. Can you hang in there just a little longer?"

"Sure."

He continued to chat her up, but for the most part, she just dangled there like a little Christmas tree ornament on a string until the pulley was finally in place above Mike's shoulder. From the ground, I watched her rise up out of the grotto and swing forward into his arms, and a sound came out of me that was part cry, part laugh, part psalm, something that meant Annabel and praise G.o.d and thank you all at once. There was an audible gasp from the a.s.sembled crew and other people who'd been standing there-I don't even know who all was there, I was so focused on Anna. I think some neighbors saw the lights and drifted over to see what was going on. One of Kevin's partners followed up to see why Kevin had left the clinic so abruptly, and he ended up staying till the end, keeping an eye on Adelynn and making sure she was safely corralled and out from under the feet of the rescuers. It seemed like the grove was full of moving shadows the whole time we were waiting, and the moment she came out into the light, it filled with applause and profoundly relieved laughter and celebration.

"Anna, we're here!" Kevin held a flashlight above our heads, shining it down on our faces so she could see us. "Mommy and Daddy are right here, Anna!"

Looking up at the stars over Mike's shoulder, she yawned, inhaling the deepest possible rush of clean night air, and then she tucked a muddy strand of hair behind her ear. That small, unfussy gesture-it's one of the moments that, for some reason, remains particularly crystalized in my mind. I felt it like the ringing of a small silver bell.

She's okay.

Chapter Seven.

I sought the Lord and he answered me, And delivered me from all my fears.

Psalm 34:4 THE MOMENT MIKE'S FEET were on the ground, Anna was whisked from his arms and onto a waiting gurney, and the paramedics began evaluating her. She was smiling and happy when Kevin and I ran to her, but we were afraid to hug her, and we couldn't get close enough to do more than touch her face for a moment, her leg for another moment, telling her over and over again, "We're here, Anna. We're right here. We love you."

"Daddy," she said, "I lost your headlamp. I'm sorry."

Kevin half laughed. "That's okay, baby girl, that's okay. I don't mind."

After all that waiting, all that slow, painstaking movement, it felt like a sudden tornado of activity with Anna at the eye of the storm. There were so many hands on her, stabilizing her neck and head, strapping her onto the body board, checking her vitals. Hurried feet crunched through the dry leaves and sticks, hustling the stretcher toward the waiting helicopter.

Running after them, I tried to make sense of the voices I was hearing, a blur of dialogue between radios and rushing figures in the dark field.

"Trauma center... prepping OR... antic.i.p.ation of spinal injury..."

"... severe abdominal distention... could be looking at a ruptured spleen..."

"... on our way now... gears up in about ninety seconds..."

"Abdomen is severely distended and hard to the touch. Anna, does this hurt when I press here?"

"Yes," she said.

"Where else does it hurt? Can you show me?"

"It's kind of... everywhere."

As we approached the perimeter of whipping wind from the helicopter blades, someone stepped in front of us and said, "Mom and Dad. We need one of you to come with us. Just one."

We looked at each other, immediately knowing everything that was unspoken. I saw in Kevin's face that he didn't want to let Anna out of his sight-never wanted anything to take her away from him ever again-but he knew that she would want her mommy at the hospital. He saw in my face that I needed to be by her side, but it tore me apart to leave Abbie and Adelynn, who'd just been through a horribly traumatic experience of their own.

The decision was made without a word and only a moment's hesitation.

"I'll go," I said.

"Yes. Okay." Kevin nodded. "I'll meet you there."

While the flight nurse secured Anna for takeoff, the paramedic took my elbow and maneuvered me into the c.o.c.kpit next to the pilot, firing instructions as he buckled me in.

"Ma'am, don't touch anything, okay? Very important. Don't touch any of the k.n.o.bs or b.u.t.tons or anything. When we touch down, you wait for me to come get you. Just stay put right here until we help you out, okay? Ma'am, are you understanding me?"

"Yes, sir," I said woodenly. "I understand."

"Here's your headset." He parked heavy earphones on my head, positioning the mic next to my cheek. "You'll be able to hear everything. You'll be able to hear Anna, and she'll be able to hear you if you talk to her. The nurse is right there with her." Before he closed the door, he smiled and said, "Don't worry, we'll be back on the ground before you know it."

I nodded, enveloped by noise-the jackhammering of the chopper blades, the crackle of radio traffic in the headset, the rushing of my own blood inside my head. The pilot communicated our status and ETA to the trauma center at the hospital and to the flight nurse and paramedic behind us, and they were communicating back to him. I couldn't tell who was talking when.

"... female, nine years old..."

"We are good to go, Fort Worth."

"Approximately eighty-five pounds. Four feet, five inches. No obvious head trauma. Abdomen is distended, rigid and tender on palpation."

"CareFlite, we're standing by in trauma one with spinal and brain injury team."

Spinal and brain injury...

"They have to a.s.sume the worst," Kevin had told me when the chopper set down in the field. "They have to be prepared for the worst. That doesn't mean the worst is inevitable."

I repeated that to myself now.

"Ready on the right."

"Ready on the left."

"Patient secured."

"Nose right, tail left... Fort Worth, we are gears up."

There was a small jostle and sway as we lifted off the ground. As we rose up and the earth fell away, I looked down at Kevin standing there, one arm around Adelynn, the other around Abbie. Their faces were small and white in the wash of headlights from the emergency vehicles. Kevin's expression was etched with a grim determination I'd gotten used to. He wanted to be with Anna, but now she was in capable hands, and even if there had been room for both of us to go, one of us had to be on the ground for Adelynn and Abbie.

With my whole heart reaching out, I looked down on the retreating chaos and kept my eyes fastened on my family. Tinier and tinier. Disappearing. They were seeing Anna and me disappear the same way, receding into the stars above our house. Kevin and I had developed our MO: divide and conquer. But sometimes I felt that divide like a scalpel blade, and this was one of those times. I felt a part of myself being left behind in the dark pasture.

We'd gotten used to it, to the extent that a person can get used to losing a limb over and over again, but I wondered if Abigail and Adelynn felt it as a choice I was making, to be with Anna instead of them. Would they look back and remember only that I left them yet again? Would they be able to forgive me?

"Where's my mommy?" I heard Anna's voice in the headset. "I don't see my mommy."

"She's on board with us, Anna. Your mommy's right up here."

"Ma'am?" The pilot touched my arm and gestured to the headset. "She can hear you if you want to talk to her. Just go ahead and say something."

I understood that. And I wanted to talk to her. I wanted to say, I'm here, baby. Mommy's here, and my brain was screaming, Why can't I say something? Why am I not comforting my child?

The words just weren't there. I couldn't even force out the simple syllables of her name. I felt as frozen and distant as the crescent moon hanging on the horizon below me.

"Your mom's here, Anna. She's right up front by the pilot," the flight nurse was saying. "Annabel, don't try to turn your head, sweetie. Keep your head still."

"Why?"

"We want to make sure you don't have any broken bones in your neck, so let's just keep very still until we get to the hospital where they'll give you some X-rays and make sure everything's okay, and then we'll take the straps off."

"Okay," Anna sighed. "The lights are so pretty."

"You'll feel a little pinch here, all right, Annabel?"

"Are you giving me an IV?"

"Yup. I'm sorry."

"Oh, that's okay," Anna said amiably. "I was just curious. I've had like a million shots and IVs since I was six. Mommy showed me how to blow the pain away till it's done. Like this..."

"That's a good technique," the nurse said. "Sometimes people hyperventilate."

"Yeah, I picked up a few tricks. Like how to mess up the blood pressure cuff. It feels cool when you bend your arm."

"Oh, that is a good trick! But let's not do anything like that right now. I need you to stay still for me, Annabel."

The radio chatter resumed, a running dialogue between the flight nurse and the trauma center monitoring Anna's blood pressure and heart rate. Flight status and landing instructions pa.s.sed between the pilot and the ground. I forced myself to focus and breathe.

This is really happening.

The DallasFort Worth metroplex was a carpet of lights below us. A pattern of skysc.r.a.pers and streets emerged as we swooped in, circled low, and landed on the rooftop at Cook Children's-the one part of the medical center we'd never seen. I felt the helicopter settle. In less than a moment, a door flew open on the far side of the roof, and the trauma team poured out onto the tarmac, running with a gurney and equipment on wheeled racks. They swarmed around Anna, swiftly shifting her stretcher to the gurney.

The pilot took my headset as he delivered brusque instructions on how to get out. A bracing rush of cold wind hit me when the paramedic opened my door, and then I was down on the tarmac, running after the doctors and nurses already hauling back toward the rooftop door.

"I'm right here, Anna! Mommy's here!"

I'd found my feet. Found my voice. The whole bizarre situation had thrown me for a momentary loop, but now I was on familiar ground. I knew how to do hospitals. I caught up to the trauma team and stayed close by Anna's side, dropping back for only a moment as they banged through the doors into the bright lights.

"Wait! Wait!" she cried out. "What are you doing?"

A nurse wielding a pair of scissors opened the front of Anna's shirt in one swift motion. "Sweetie, we have to cut it so we can see where you're hurt."

"That's one of my favorite shirts," she groaned.

"Well, she's alert."

"Overall, she doesn't look too much worse for wear," the ER doctor said. "Jesus was with this kid today. I've never seen anyone fall headfirst from that height without serious spinal and head injuries."

"Annabel, I'm going to press on your tummy here. Does this hurt?"

"No, but is Dani here? Dani Dillard. Can you tell her I'm here?"

"Dani's not here tonight," said the nurse, "but I'm a friend of hers. Is there anything I can help you with?"

"Never mind," said Anna. There could never be a subst.i.tute for Dani.

Monitor wires and IV tubing snaked out around Anna's body. One nurse picked through the bark and debris in her hair, looking for evidence of a head injury while another a.s.sessed her neurological responses.

"Can you feel me tapping here on your knee, Annabel? Okay, good. And how about right here? And here on your ankle? Let me see you wiggle your toes, Annabel. Wiggle those toes for me."

Anna wriggled her bare feet. That was my last glimpse of her as they swept her down the hall to begin a barrage of MRIs and CT scans.

Her precious, muddy toes wriggling.