Meet "That Carver Girl"

Coming June 2026

The best hiding spots were near the creek where the hickory trees grew thick enough to make tunnels. She had been playing in these woods as long as she could remember, back when Ryan still played with her instead of going off with his friends all the time, back when everything felt safe and simple and every day was an adventure.

She was six and three-quarters, which was almost seven, which meant she was old enough to go pretty far on her own as long as she stayed on the property. Gram had said so just that morning. Gram was a little distracted. Grandpa had gone to Jesus just a few weeks ago and Lucy sometimes found Gram crying quietly on the front porch of the big house they all lived in.

The Karst Valley Nursery land stretched for acres and acres, full of nursery rows and wild patches and secret places that seemed to belong only to her.

Afternoon sun filtered through the canopy in gold streaks, making patterns on the forest floor. Somewhere above, a cardinal was singing. Lucy had her stick, a good one she'd found last week, perfectly smooth and just the right length for a sword or a magic wand depending on what the game required. Today it was a sword because she was hunting dragons.

She'd been tracking one (a particularly mean-looking root system) for at least ten minutes when she heard something that didn't belong to the usual forest sounds.

Dragging. Something heavy being pulled across leaves and undergrowth.

Lucy froze, suddenly very much aware that she was alone and far from the house. Mom’s voice echoed in her head. "Stay where people can hear you if you yell." But this was still their property. Still safe.

It was probably one of the workers or Daddy moving equipment or seed.

She crept toward the sound, curiosity overriding caution the way it always did. Mom liked to remind her, "Curiosity killed the cat." And then Gram, forever her champion, would add with a wink, "And satisfaction brought it back!"

A small clearing at the edge of the hill came into view through the trees. And there was Daddy, dragging a giant bag. Soil, maybe, but why would he bring dirt to a hill that was nothing but dirt?

Lucy's brain tried to make it make sense. Maybe it was a deer?

Then the bag moved. By itself. Twisted. And it made a sound that wasn't a deer sound or a bag sound but something muffled and in pain and scary.

And there was red. Dark red on the beige canvas.

Lucy took a step closer, branches crackling under her feet.

Daddy turned his head. The thing in the bag thrashed harder, and the canvas shifted, fell partially open. A woman's arms, tied together with rope, were reaching out through the opening. Long blonde hair was matted with dirt and something darker, and there was a cloth tied around the person’s head, and Lucy could see now. It wasn’t an animal. It was a woman trying to get out.

The woman turned her head just enough for their eyes to meet.

Brown eyes, wide and pleading and full of something Lucy didn't have words for yet but would remember for the rest of her life. She was trying to say something through the gag, making sounds that made Lucy's insides quake and turn watery.

"Daddy?" Lucy's voice was a whisper.

Her father turned and looked at her. First he looked surprised, then angry.

And then he laughed.

Daddy loved his jokes and he laughed like she’d told him a good one. Not a mean laugh or a scary laugh, but something almost delighted.

Lucy's sword-stick fell from her hand, and she ran.

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