It was time to resume her search. She hadn’t come to the woods for nothing—she was looking for her missing toys. The ones that vanished a month ago, when her grandma said they’d gotten lost in the forest.
Deep down, Emily suspected the toys hadn’t been lost. She’d seen Barbara wrapping up her plush Teddy, her porcelain-faced doll, and her wind-up bunny in newspaper. She’d seen her carry the bundle off somewhere.
The next day, when Emily asked where her toys were, Barbara looked away and said, «They’re gone, sweetheart. Lost in the woods. Maybe they’ll turn up someday.»
She couldn’t tell her granddaughter she’d sold them to afford school supplies, even just the basics. So Emily started going to the woods.
Every morning, early, while Barbara was stoking the woodstove or tending the garden. Emily knew the story about the lost toys wasn’t true. But she searched anyway.
Because if her grandma said «lost in the woods,» that’s what she needed to say. Living with Barbara had taught Emily many things—like how bread tastes better when shared, how patched socks can feel warmer than new ones if mended with care, and how sometimes you have to lose something to hold on to something more important.
Emily’s toys had been beautiful, bright, and expensive—not like the ones the other kids in town had. «Your mom bought them before you were born,» Barbara would say. «She was getting everything ready for you.» Then she’d add softly, almost to herself, «Like she knew she wouldn’t see you grow up.»
Now the toys were gone. But there was bread on the table and new rubber boots for Emily. Barbara had bought them at a fair in the next town over, using money from selling their goat.
The boots were a bit big, «for growing into,» as Barbara said, but Emily was thrilled with them. «Who needs toys?» she reasoned, stepping between the trees. «Maggie from next door only has one rag doll her whole life. I’ve got a whole forest full of stick-animals and pinecone-dolls.»
The path led Emily to a small clearing ringed by young pines. Beyond it lay the part of the forest Barbara had forbidden her to enter. «There’s a steep ravine,» she’d warned. «One wrong step, and you’ll break your neck.» But just past the tallest pine ran a road where city cars sometimes passed.
Stepping to the edge of the clearing, Emily froze. On the road, just beyond the tree line, stood a black car. Sleek and shiny, like the back of a beetle she’d once found under a log. It was a city car, big, with tinted windows—not like the beat-up tractor owned by Uncle Fred or the rusty pickup driven by the schoolteacher.
Emily instinctively stepped back into the shadow of a pine. Her heart raced with excitement. The car had stopped right where she stood.
The door opened, and a man stepped out. «Right now,» Emily thought, holding her breath, «he’ll pull out one of my toys. Maybe this guy brought them back!» Her childish imagination painted a vivid, delightful scene.
The stranger opens the trunk and pulls out her plush Teddy, her porcelain doll, and her wind-up bunny. «Here,» he says, «I found your toys in the city. They asked me to bring them home.»
And Emily takes them, hugs them tight, then races home to show her grandma, who smiles and shakes her head, saying, «What did I tell you? Lost in the woods, found in the woods.»
But the man from the car didn’t reach for any toys. Instead, he glanced around nervously, clutching a bundle to his chest. Emily watched, her heart pounding. The man from the black car didn’t look like anyone from town.
Everything about him was different—from his polished shoes, unfit for dusty trails, to his dark suit, out of place in the summer woods. He was like a bird that had flown into the wrong flock. Tall, with hair slicked back, a pale face, and furrowed brows.
In one hand, he held a bundle wrapped in a blue blanket. Emily held her breath, pressing against the rough bark of the pine. Her heart thumped so loudly she thought it might echo across the forest.
She didn’t know why she was hiding. The city man didn’t seem dangerous. But something in his tense posture, his jerky movements, kept her in the shadows.
The man crossed the strip between the road and the forest with quick strides. He stepped high, as if afraid to dirty his fancy shoes. He paused occasionally, scanning the surroundings.
His eyes darted over the trees and bushes, as though searching for someone or fearing he was being watched. Once, he looked directly toward Emily’s hiding spot, and she pressed herself tighter against the tree, holding her breath, though she knew the thick pine branches concealed her. The bundle in his arms twitched slightly.