The school attendance records arrived on Tuesday morning in a sealed envelope addressed to Mr. Tuttle. I was sitting across from him when he opened it, expecting a more complete version of the summary we had already examined. Instead, the packet contained nearly seventy pages: attendance reports, teacher notes, registration forms, messages to Regina, and records from a summer learning program. The lawyer placed them in chronological order before allowing me to read. He knew how badly I wanted answers, but he also knew how easily anger could make a person overlook important details.
I began with the attendance report. Josie had missed twenty-three days during the regular academic year, far more than I had imagined when Regina told me she was doing well in school. Several absences were recorded as illness, others as family circumstances, and some remained unexplained. The July date on Mara Ellis's task sheet belonged to a district summer reading program for which Josie had been registered. She was supposed to attend classes three mornings a week. On that particular morning, the program marked her absent.
I sat back in the chair and tried to understand the significance of the dates. During my deployment, Regina had told me Josie was enjoying reading and making progress in mathematics. She had occasionally mentioned ordinary childhood illnesses, but nothing that would account for so many missed lessons. Whenever I asked about school, my daughter usually gave short answers. I assumed she was bored with the subject. Now I wondered whether she had been frightened to describe a routine that was becoming increasingly irregular.
Mr. Tuttle pointed to several teacher notes near the middle of the packet. One recorded that Josie had arrived without a completed assignment and appeared unusually tired. Another mentioned that she fell asleep briefly during a quiet reading period. A third described her reluctance to participate in an outdoor activity because she said her hands hurt. The notes were not medical diagnoses or proof of neglect. But together they showed that people outside the farmhouse had noticed changes in my daughter.
I recognized the name of her classroom teacher, Nora Bell. Josie had mentioned her during several Sunday calls, usually with a faint smile. Mrs. Bell apparently encouraged children to read aloud and kept a small collection of books they could borrow. I remembered Josie proudly telling me that she had finished a story about a dog who found his way home. At the time, I thought the conversation showed she was settling into school despite my absence. Now the teacher's notes suggested a more complicated picture.
Mr. Tuttle had obtained permission to contact Mrs. Bell and ask whether she would explain her records. She agreed to meet that afternoon. Until then, we continued reviewing the packet. The summer program attendance sheet showed several absences during weeks when Braddock Hall hosted large events. Some dates aligned with the task photographs Mara had preserved. Others didn't, and I was careful not to assume every missed class resulted from work. Children become ill, transportation fails, and families sometimes make imperfect decisions. But the repeated overlap demanded explanation.
A page near the back of the packet caught my attention. It was a registration form completed shortly after my departure for Korea. Regina had listed herself as Josie's primary caregiver and emergency contact, which was appropriate under the temporary family care plan. But the section requesting information about the child's parents had been filled out differently. My name appeared, followed by the words "overseas military assignment." The telephone field was blank. Beside it, Regina had written that direct contact was restricted because of military security requirements.
I read the sentence twice. My assignment had included ordinary operational responsibilities and communication limitations, but there was no blanket prohibition preventing the school from contacting me. I had provided Regina with emergency numbers, a command contact, and instructions for reaching me through official channels. She knew I spoke with Josie every Sunday. I had even encouraged her to ask the school to send reports electronically if that was convenient. Nothing about my service required the school to keep me uninformed.
The next page contained a handwritten note from the school office. It recorded that a staff member had asked Regina whether the child's mother wanted to receive attendance information. According to the note, Regina replied that contacting me might interfere with my duties and that she would manage school matters herself. The office accepted that explanation and continued sending messages to the caregiver on file. I looked at the date. It was only six weeks after I left for Korea.
I felt a different kind of anger. Regina had not merely neglected to share information. She had created the impression that my military service prevented the school from communicating with me, when in fact I had given her every means of doing so. The statement made her the only person receiving attendance warnings and concerns about Josie's progress. It also deprived teachers of an easy way to ask me whether I knew what was happening.
Mr. Tuttle asked whether I could provide copies of the emergency contact instructions I had given Regina. I opened the deployment folder on my phone and found them within minutes. The document listed several approved methods for contacting me, including the information necessary for urgent family matters. It had been attached to the same family care plan Regina later used to support her guardianship petition. My sister possessed both documents. She could not reasonably claim that she had no way to reach me.
We added the records to the case file and arranged to discuss them with Investigator Vale. Then I went to collect Josie from Mrs. Harris, who had taken her to the library for another activity. My daughter was sitting at a table with three other children, listening to a volunteer read a story. She looked up when I entered and smiled. It was a small, ordinary expression, and I held on to it. She had spent part of the morning doing something children were supposed to do, without being asked to clean the room afterward.
On the walk back to the law office, Josie told me about a boy who had drawn a rabbit with six legs. She giggled while explaining that the volunteer called it a very fast rabbit. I laughed with her. For several minutes, we talked about nothing more serious than crayons, books, and the difficulty of drawing animal feet. I wanted those conversations to become the center of her days. The court records were necessary, but I didn't want every hour of her recovery organized around what Regina had done.
At the office, Mrs. Harris brought us sandwiches and fruit. Josie ate while I spoke with Mr. Tuttle about the next medical appointment. Dr. Nair wanted to monitor her weight and ensure that the damaged skin continued healing. The counselor had recommended predictable routines, choices that were appropriate for her age, and reassurance without excessive questioning. I had begun following those suggestions carefully. Josie was still frightened by unexpected knocks and raised voices, but she was sleeping for longer stretches and sometimes woke without immediately asking whether I was leaving.
That afternoon, Mrs. Bell arrived carrying a worn leather satchel. She was a middle-aged woman with soft brown hair and the direct manner of someone accustomed to managing a classroom full of children. She shook my hand and told me she was glad Josie was safe. I asked how much she knew about the court proceedings. She said she had seen only limited information and preferred to speak about what she personally observed at school. I appreciated her caution.
Mrs. Bell described Josie as a bright child who loved stories but had become increasingly withdrawn during the year. At the beginning of the assignment, she participated in discussions and volunteered to read aloud. Later, she often seemed tired and anxious. She sometimes watched the clock near the end of the day, and on several occasions she asked whether she could remain in the classroom a little longer before going home. Mrs. Bell had assumed the child was missing her mother and struggling with separation.
"Did she ever tell you she was sleeping in the hog shed?" I asked. The teacher shook her head. Josie had never described her living arrangements in those terms. She occasionally mentioned helping at weddings, but Regina had presented the business as a family enterprise. Mrs. Bell knew children sometimes helped relatives with harmless tasks. What concerned her was the child's fatigue, inconsistent attendance, and growing reluctance to speak about home. She said she had raised those concerns with the school office and Regina.
I asked how my sister responded. Mrs. Bell opened her satchel and removed copies of two messages. In the first, Regina explained that Josie was having difficulty adjusting to my absence and needed additional discipline. In the second, she said the child had been ill and would recover with rest. Mrs. Bell told us she had recommended a medical appointment and offered school support. Regina replied that she was handling the matter privately.
The teacher looked down at the messages. "I wish I had understood more," she said. "I saw pieces of something troubling, but I didn't know the whole situation." She explained that concerns had been documented and discussed through school channels, but the information available to her had not established where Josie was sleeping or how she was being treated outside school. She had continued watching for changes and encouraging the child to speak. I understood that she was describing the limits of what she knew, not claiming she had done everything perfectly.
Mr. Tuttle asked whether Mrs. Bell would be willing to provide a formal statement concerning the records and her observations. She agreed. She also offered to explain the summer reading program, including the morning Josie missed while Mara's task sheet placed her at Braddock Hall. The attendance record established the absence; the task sheet supplied a possible explanation. Together they could help investigators determine whether Regina had used school days to obtain labor from a child in her care.
Before leaving, Mrs. Bell asked whether she might send Josie a book. She remembered how much my daughter enjoyed stories about animals and wanted her to have something familiar while adjusting to her new circumstances. I thanked her and said I thought Josie would appreciate it. The teacher looked relieved. Then she paused beside the door and added, "She used to ask whether her mother knew she was trying hard in school." My throat tightened. I told her I had never doubted that.
After she left, I sat alone for a few minutes. Josie had been trying hard in school, at the wedding venue, during our Sunday calls, and even in the shed. She had been trying to satisfy expectations that shifted whenever Regina needed something. The more I learned, the more I understood why she apologized for resting or eating. My sister had turned ordinary childhood into a continuous test of obedience, and my daughter had believed that failing the test might cost her the people she loved.
Mr. Tuttle interrupted my thoughts with news about the house near the library. The owner was willing to rent it to me beginning the following week. It was small, with two bedrooms, a fenced backyard, and a kitchen large enough for a proper table. The rent was within my means, and the location would allow Josie to walk to the library and return to school when her medical and emotional needs permitted. I asked whether we could see it that afternoon.
The house stood on a quiet street lined with maple trees. Its front porch was narrow, and the paint around the windows had begun to weather. Inside, the rooms were clean and filled with afternoon light. The kitchen cupboards were plain wood, and the floor creaked near the back door. Nothing about the place resembled Braddock Hall's polished rooms or elaborate decorations. I liked it immediately. It looked like a home meant for living rather than impressing visitors.
Josie walked through the rooms without speaking. She stopped at the smaller bedroom, where sunlight fell across an empty wall. The room contained no furniture, only a closet and a window overlooking the backyard. She stood in the doorway for a long time. Then she asked whether this would be her room. I told her it could be, if she wanted it. She stepped inside and touched the wall with her fingertips, as though checking that it was real.
"Can I put my rabbit here?" she asked. I said she could put Button anywhere in the room. She turned toward the closet and asked whether she would have to keep her clothes there all the time. I told her she could choose where to arrange them, as long as we kept the room reasonably tidy. She looked at the window again. "Can I have yellow curtains?" she asked. The question startled me. She had always loved yellow, but Regina's yellow dress had become part of the staged Sunday calls. I told her she could choose the curtains herself.
We signed the rental paperwork after Mr. Tuttle reviewed it. The house would be available in several days, once the owner completed a few repairs. I planned to buy beds, a table, and basic household supplies. I could afford them without difficulty, despite Regina's claims about my poverty. My old truck remained at the farm, but I would arrange to retrieve it through counsel. For now, the borrowed car and the motel were enough. I was more interested in giving Josie a bedroom she could actually use.
That evening, I told her we would soon move into the little house. She sat beside me on the motel bed, holding Button against her chest. She asked whether Aunt Regina could come inside. I explained that the house would be ours to live in and that no one would enter without permission. She seemed reassured but asked whether I would be there at night. I promised that I would. Then she asked if we could keep the yellow and brown quilt on her bed. I told her it would be the first thing we unpacked.
After Josie fell asleep, I reviewed the school registration form again. Regina's statement about military security restrictions bothered me more each time I read it. It had been written months before the worst conditions documented in the shed, suggesting that my sister was establishing control over communication early in my absence. I didn't know whether she originally intended to exploit that isolation or merely resented having to report to me. But the effect was clear. Teachers had been discouraged from contacting me, and Josie had been told that speaking honestly might keep me away longer.
I sent Investigator Vale a copy of the registration form and the emergency contact instructions Regina possessed. The investigator acknowledged them and asked for the dates of my Sunday calls. I provided the schedule and the messages confirming those conversations. She said the records might help establish whether Regina knowingly misrepresented the restrictions on contacting me. The issue was relevant not only to the school absences but also to the broader question of how Josie's care had been concealed.
Before ending the call, Vale told me that the records recovered from commercial storage were being organized for review. The investigators were comparing the original task sheets with Mara's photographs and examining the contents of the blue folder. She couldn't yet tell me what they had found, but she said the documents appeared to cover a longer period than the copies Mara preserved. I thanked her and put down the phone, aware that the next stage of the case might reveal details Josie herself had never understood.
I looked toward my daughter's bed. Her rabbit book lay open beside the pillow, and Button was tucked beneath the quilt. She had spent the day choosing curtains, talking about books, and laughing at a badly drawn rabbit. Those were the memories I wanted her to carry forward. But I also knew the past had to be examined carefully enough that Regina could no longer deny it. The school records had shown how my sister isolated me from the people who noticed Josie's distress. Now the original business records might show exactly what she did with that control.
