By the time I returned, armed with a clothespin, fork, and cup, my assistant had attracted a pair of volunteers for our act. A handsome man in a snappy suit and a rosy-cheeked woman in a lavender dress were seated on the floor, where Poppy was demonstrating how to break free of the string she’d looped around their wrists. The instant they succeeded, the couple burst into smiles, the woman calling her “cuter than a June bug.” And from the traded warmth in all their eyes, no one could deny the three were meant to be a family.

It was every orphan’s dream.

Including mine.

A dark emotion rose within me, a plume of jealousy, reminding me of all I had lost. Straightaway, I did my best to tamp it down. Poppy deserved this and more.

Not surprisingly, after the trio delighted in a lengthy lunch, I heard that Poppy was sent upstairs to pack. Her paperwork was being finalized.

I headed to our room, prepared to share in her glee, at least to try. What I found there left me staring.

On her cot, Poppy sat tearful though adamant, clutching a fistful of our string. “I am not going with them. They can’t make me.”

“But…why? What happened?”

She paused, shook her head.

I moved closer. “Did they say something to you? Something bad?”

Another no, without details.

Assessing people was one of my strengths. Wasn’t it? The couple had seemed so nice. Maybe too nice. Poppy might have figured out they were phonies, or something else about them was off.

“I’m so sorry, Poppy. If I’d known, I would’ve found an excuse to pull you away. I thought you really liked them.”

“Well, yes, but—” She huffed. “What about our show? You said you’d teach me a bunch more tricks. So you see? I can’t go yet. Will you tell Mrs. Atwood? Please, will you?” The look in her eyes caused a pricking of moisture in my own, because she wasn’t just asking; she was begging. It didn’t matter that the director would never agree.

I realized then: for those who couldn’t recall life outside a cage, being set free was a terrifying thing. The orphanage was far from ideal, but it was the only home Poppy knew.

She needed a nudge, one more powerful than words.

Before I could think better of it, I knelt to reach under my cot and fished through my travel bag. A gift meant to be passed to someone who needed it more.

My gut, like Arie’s had, insisted on it.

I sat next to Poppy and handed over my book. The book. In it were plenty of tricks I’d yet to tackle, not to mention escapes, but they weren’t presently my priority.

Mouth agape at me, she was asking, Are you sure?

I smiled. “It’s yours.”