Free Set Me Free by Miranda Beverly-Whittemore Page A

probably die very soon.
     I have to get to him before that. I have to keep that promise, Wills.” As an afterthought, he added, “Apparently, he runs
     a school. In Oregon.”
    “But, Dad,” Willa said, her mind spinning. She cast about for more information, anything, while she tried to get a grip on
     what Nat had said. “You heard about it on the radio?”
    “Yes,” replied Nat.
    “But it’s something”—she hesitated—“my mom said she wanted? For you to find him?”
    “Yes.”
    “So you looked for him before, or something, and you couldn’t find him, and now you found him but he’s going to die?” Nat
     nodded once. Willa tried to get a handle on the situation. The game had changed. She wasn’t thinking about herself anymore.
     She said, “Why didn’t you say that in the first place? I mean, you never talk about Mom. And if she wanted you to, you know,
     I mean… Go. You should go.”
    Nat nodded again. “The thing is, sweetheart”—here he took her hand—“I know this isn’t fair. I know you’ve worked so hard to
     get to this art show. And I know how important your education is. But“—and here he paused—“and this is your decision. But.
     I think your mom might want you to come along. Not because you have to. Because—”
    Willa was already gathering up her drawing and the fixer. “I’ve just got to put this stuff down,” she said. “I’ve got to get
     my backpack.” She had started to move away from the car when Nat called her back.
    “Are you sure?” he asked. “It’s going to be…” He sighed. He couldn’t tell her how it was going to be. He had no clue.
    “I’m sure,” Willa said, and she smiled broadly. She had been waiting her whole life for this, to be invited into the world
     of information. She’d always known her mother had wonderful secrets. She’d even believed her father was privy to them. But
     now she knew her mother was the kind of woman who made deathbed wishes about men named Elliot Barrow. Willa’s father was inviting
     her to fulfill these wishes with him. This was the real thing.
    “Okay,” said Nat, holding her gaze. “But you have to promise me it’s what you want. I need to hear you promise it’s your decision.”
    He was talking so seriously. All Willa could feel was skipping possibility, where before what she had felt was inevitable
     disappointment. “I promise,” she said, and her smile verged on laughter.
    “You can stay here,” Nat went on. “You really can. You’ll be very safe here—”
    Willa did not want one of her father’s familiar talks about safety. She would not let him back out. “I’m going to get my backpack,”
     she said. “Give me five minutes.” She ran into the art building while her father roused the sleeping Ariel and moved her to
     the backseat.
    A MELIA
    Stolen, Oregon
Monday, September 30, 1996
    The beginning of the academic year at Ponderosa Academy was marked by an epic celebration. In the crisp light of early morning,
     extended families—aunts, uncles, babies, grandmothers—crammed onto the gleaming floor of the gymnasium. This great cavern
     of a room, at the heart of the academy’s campus, usually beat with thedribbling of basketballs. The students sat cross-legged on the floor, opposite their families, lined up on folding chairs.
     Everyone clapped as new teachers and students were introduced. Next, they all sat patiently through another of Elliot Barrow’s
     stirring speeches, the old women observing how animated he became, like a windup toy that worked in reverse. These women always
     remarked later that out of everyone there, Elliot was the one who became the most stirred of all. Elliot’s speech would end
     “I have an unfortunate announcement: there will be no powwow tonight.” Groans and giggles would ripple through the room. Clapping.
     Slick smiles on the faces of the older children. They had heard this before. He would go on. “It’s true. We didn’t have the
     money this