The Noah Confessions by Barbara Hall Page A

knotted the strings on the hat and buttoned my coat so securely that I felt I was trapped in some kind of puzzle. I managed to get my mittens off, but I was still hot. I got out of the truck and went to look for him.
    I went into the woods feeling confident. After all, these were the same woods that my friends and I played in. I knew them like the back of my hand. I could point out the bicycle tire tracks we had made, the pretend houses we had built, the landmarks we had created with rocks and trees. But as I stumbled down the hill, everything looked unfamiliar to me. I wasn’t with my friends anymore and suddenly the woods looked dense and scary. The air outside was much colder than it had been in the truck, and I regretted taking off my mittens. My fingers were white with cold and every branch I touched stung them.
    I thought of Hansel and Gretel walking through the woods, leaving bread crumbs. Suddenly I wasn’t sure I could find my way back to the truck. I had been sure I’d see my father right away, but all I saw were tree trunks and I heard nothing but hollow sounds, the leaves shivering, the few remaining winter birds making desperate chirps.
    I saw some bushes shaking in the distance. I followed the shaking.
    I was relieved because I knew the shaking bushes meant a person was around. It had to be my father. He had found a tree and was chopping it down. I could help.
    â€œDaddy,” I said.
    No answer.
    â€œDaddy,” I yelled.
    Still, no answer. I moved through the brush. I felt briars catching my clothes.
    I came into a clearing.
    I saw my father and I was relieved. I had found him.
    There he was. He was yards away from me. I saw his dark coat and his dark cap and his work gloves.
    The ax and the rope and the bag were on the ground beside him.
    I saw him wrestling a tree. He was struggling with it. He was choking it, as if the tree could fight back.
    But it wasn’t a tree.
    It was Jackie.
    I stood and I stared and I tried to make sense of it.
    We went to get a Christmas tree.
    His hands were around her throat.
    I thought, Is she helping us get the tree?
    I thought, Is he joking? Are they kidding around?
    She saw me. Her arm reached out. The birds were around it. They danced. It was like she was trying to hold my hand. I reached toward her, too, but nothing happened.
    She looked at me, as if to say “Save me.”
    He was killing her.
    The birds. The birds.
    Then my father saw me.
    I looked at him and he looked at me.
    The birds on her wrist made a singing noise.
    I turned and ran.
    I ran up the hill as fast as I could. The mud made a slurping sound underneath my feet. The briars grabbed at me. Something in my head told me to go back, and something else in my head said, Run as fast as you can. I couldn’t run fast. A limb caught my hat and pulled it off. I grabbed it back and then I kept running.
    I thought I was next.
    I ran until I could see the truck at the edge of the woods. Then I felt some force around my waist. My father had reached me. He picked me up.
    â€œI told you to stay in the truck,” he said.
    â€œI…I was hot.”
    â€œWhen are you going to learn?” he asked me.
    â€œI don’t know.”
    â€œDo what I tell you to do.”
    â€œI’m going to the truck.”
    â€œNo,” he said.
    He set me down on the ground and I looked at him. Sweat was trickling down his face. He wiped it away, still wearing his work gloves.
    He sighed and looked to the sky.
    He said, “It’s too late. You have to help me now.”
    â€œI’ll help you,” I said.
    He said, “You don’t understand.”
    I knew I didn’t understand. But I didn’t know what to say.
    This was my father. This was Jackie. They had some secret understanding. I had interfered.
    I don’t know what happened next. Maybe we stood next to the edge of the woods for a while, talking.
    Imagine my whole world crashing down. I thought back to my mother,