October 26, 1951

YUCATAN, MEXICO

I will use what is left of me to write this. This is the time to do it, as I am as numb as a magnolia branch in December, bending but not yet broken by the ice. Do not take me for an unloving mother or wife who is able to methodically dictate the loss of my daughter and husband. My heart has already broken, along with much of my body, and I cannot ever recover. If this exercise assists in determining what’s happening to other families like mine, then so be it. This is for them. It will not help me.

My name is Freda Stanson.

I’d only meant to lay down for a minute the night my daughter disappeared. But the rain was an undeniable lullaby.

The flash was so bright I could see it despite my closed eyes. I sat up to see a section of the woods momentarily illuminate and then go dark. The rain had stopped, long enough for the screen on the window to dry. I must have drifted a bit more, because I only truly woke when I heard Bud’s calls from outside.

Immediately I was on my feet and running down the hall. I pushed through the screened door, spotting my husband on the edge of the woods, his hands cupped around his mouth, calling for Lynn.

He’d answered my question before I could ask it. They’d dozed off, watching the fireflies that our daughter loved so much that she spent nearly every night trapping them and then delighting in letting them go. He’d woken to find her gone. He’d searched the house and the yard. He’d noticed then that the fireflies were heavy in the trees after the rain.

He’d directed me to get the flashlight from the greenhouse. She’ll see the light and come back, he said. She just got turned around. She’s a country girl. She’s not afraid of the woods.

I’d run to the greenhouse and found the silver Rayovac where Bud had left it after trying to chase away a coyote that had wandered too close to the property line a few weeks ago.

I thought of the creature, its eyes reflecting the flashlight. I’d stood on the porch, watching Bud waving his arms to spook it. It had examined him for far too long, in my opinion, before slipping into the dark.

I’d reminded him of the coyote when I hurried back. He ran into the woods.

The light winked between the dark trees as I’d yelled out, telling Lynn to follow the flashlight to Daddy. I could see the other flickerings from the fireflies as well, and felt one dart in front of my face, another bounce off my ear. I anticipated their illumination before me, but none appeared. Even in the night, I could see them zig-zagging, with one or two landing on my neck.

I pulled them off, gentle as I taught Lynn to do if they landed on her. They popped in my hand, and yet as I opened my fingers, no tiny glow emerged.

I felt a few on my legs now, and knew, the way they clung to me without piercing or irritation, that they were Bud’s ladybugs. He’d had them shipped in to eat the aphids in the gardens, but they were supposed to rest at night.

They were everywhere now, and I thought of how I’d have to search through Lynn’s curls later to make sure none got entangled. She would laugh if I brought one from her hair, like a magician pulling a dime from behind her ear.

I kept walking to escape their swarm, following Bud’s light as he went deeper into the woods. I then saw the light stop, and I held my breath, waiting for him to call out that he’d found her.

The light came towards me with a rapid pace. When he at last emerged, I could see he was alone, his face sunken in the harsh light, holding out one of our daughter’s shoes.

I need to take a break now. I will wait for the pain to subside.