Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Author: Teglin
Title: To Hear, To See, To Touch - A Girllove Romance
Keywords: Mg, Rom, Pedo, Cons
Part: 3, Chapter 2
This girllove romance is completely fictional.  If you are under age 18,

or the concept of a man/girl relationship offends you, don't read further.

   Author's Note: One of my earliest memories is of a trip my family took
when I was perhaps four or five years old.  We stopped one day at a
roadside curio shop, and I was treated with a set of Cowboys and Indians
toys.  In that set was a little Indian Princess doll.  I remember sitting
in the back seat of our car hour by hour playing with that doll,
fantasizing about rescuing her from some dire fate.  Through all the years
since then, such rescue fantasies have been a staple for me in one form or
another, especially as my fantasies became erotic.  Not just 'damsel in
distress,' but specifically 'little girl in distress,' with me of course in
the role of dashing hero.

   Essentially this story about Lera and Ben is one of my rescue fantasies,
and since I'm putting it down on paper, I'm doing so in what may seem to
some readers as excruciating detail.  It may not be a good way to develop a
story, but I'm enjoying it immensely, imagining how if I were in Ben's
place, how very important every moment with Lera would be for me.

   Why am I telling you this?  Just to ask for your indulgence.  Don't read
this story expecting fast-paced action or lots of sex.  If you want to go
on and read it, remember my frame of mind when writing it, and perhaps you
can immerse yourself, as I am while writing, in all the varied emotions and
sensations and actions that you might experience if you were the one who
had the chance to rescue Lera - and be rescued by her - and make her your
reason for living.

   Chapter 2

   Great billows of smoke pumped high into the sky and jets of steam rushed
over us on the platform, as the Orphan Train engine passed, already picking
up speed as it pushed its consist back out of the station.  I half turned
away, to shield my precious little girl from the onrushing spume.  As I
looked down the length of the train through the loosening white clouds I
saw Sister Mary suddenly lean off the passenger car platform and attempt to
throw out what looked like a small bedroll.  The surging speed of the train
must have jostled her off-balance, because she only succeeded in fumbling
the bundle against the guard railing at the end of the car.  The roll
unraveled and out spilled its contents right down onto the tracks between
the cars.  There was nothing she could do about it but give a hapless
parting wave, as the train took her forever out of our lives.  She had done
her job, and I had nothing but overwhelming gratitude for her - for caring
for Lera, for bringing her to me, and for making our new family possible.

   I watched helplessly, too, as the rest of the cars and the engine itself
backed over whatever had fallen onto the rails - probably Lera's few
belongings.  No matter what I might salvage from the roadbed, they were
clear reminders of something I needed to do very quickly: I could sum up
all of a little girl's clothing and toiletries and ... toys ... anything
and everything a girl would want or need, and the total of what I had back
on the homeplace would be ... nothing!  We were going to have to make some
immediate purchases.

   The clothes Lera was wearing now were wet and soiled.  Unless there had
been a second dress in that roll, and unless those steel wheels had
miraculously failed to destroy it, we were going to need to buy one or more
- and underclothes, and socks.  A sleeping gown, a hair brush.  I had long
ago donated all such things of my mother's to a church collection.  Lera
also needed a healing ointment for her burns and blisters.  And soap ...
the list of items started to grow.  And she was probably hungry and
thirsty.

   None of that daunted me.  I couldn't help but ... well, almost smile in
the face of the challenge.  Literally.  I was glowing.  Not because she
needed me so desperately to provide all those things, but if I were to be
truthful about it, I was energized by this new responsibility.  Everything
she needed, I would find for her, and more.  I'd get her washed, and
clothed, and fed, and cared for today, and every day.  This little girl and
I were embarking on an adventure of sorts, and I was determined to make it
all perfect for her.  Everything was going to be new, for both of us.  And
everything was going to be better.  For both of us.

   Carrying her down the platform towards her scattered possessions, I was
reminded of another major need - for both of us.  I had no immediate way of
telling her where we were walking to, what we were about to do, why I was
stepping down off the platform onto the gravel near the track, why she was
going to feel us both stoop down, when I retrieved her things.  We were
going to have to learn to communicate.  Deaf and dumb man, blind little
girl.

   What, or where, was the tool or method for us to tell each other things?
Writing?  That would do sometimes, if we had the time for it, at least for
her to tell me things.  IF she could write at all, much less write without
being able to see paper or pen.  But if she couldn't?  Or if we didn't have
the time, or the tools?  And what about when it was me?  If I needed to
tell her something?  She wasn't going to understand any kind of noise I
might make, and no matter how much I might want to talk now, I just plain
didn't know how any more.  I'd try, for her - damn me if I wouldn't try -
but I knew it wouldn't work.

   For now, I was glad that Aunt Carrie was still standing nearby.  At the
very least, I needed for her to tell Lera what my plans were, where I would
be taking her.  I wanted her to know that I'd get those new clothes, and
that we had a long ride ahead of us, but a good home to go to, and plenty
to eat.  Lera was entering a new world, she would be worried, probably
fearful, at the very least wondering where were we going to live, where she
would sleep, when would she get to eat.  Common sense told me that she was
one tough little girl, she had already proven how brave she was, but she
was also a desperate little thing, to be taking a chance like this on a
total stranger.

   I had tried to let her down onto the platform earlier, when Sister Mary
had opened her arms wide to give her a hug goodbye, but Lera was having
none of that.  Oh, she returned the hug, leaning out from within my
embrace, but no way was she letting me set her down.  She had latched onto
me good, and nothing but time and lots of reassurance was going to make her
let go.  There was nothing loathe in me about that.  This was all new to me
too, and every moment holding her against me was magical.  So I didn't try
to let her down now, to get her to walk.  There'd be a time for that.  When
she was ready.

   There was little enough left from her past life laying there strewn
along the railroad track.  I stooped with her to gather each token of her
former existence, and for the briefest of moments I was almost glad that
she couldn't see them.  There was a dull-gray sack-like dress, with a long
gash from hem to waistline, where one of the wheel flanges had ripped it
apart.  One sock - had Sister Mary been too hurried to find the other in
the rush of the train's departure, or had it simply gotten caught somewhere
in the train's undercarriage?  And a stuffed, cloth doll.  One whole side
of it was split open and flattened by the train, tufts of cotton spilling
out, and a large dollop of hot grease had splattered across its chest,
sticking there as a viscous smear.  Awkwardly, fumbling with one hand while
still holding Lera securely against me, I used the dress to wrap around the
doll, unsure if it was the right moment to give it to her damaged and
dirtied, but it was hers, perhaps something she cherished.  Perhaps I could
repair it before she thought about it, and she would never know of its
injury.

   Of Lera's own injury, I was constantly aware.  As we walked and stooped
and turned, I noted that she tried to keep her head steady, and to keep the
burned area of her scalp away from contact with my shirt.  She would wince
and her little eyebrows would tighten, when the jostling of our motions
together caused a flash of pain.  Each time that happened I made a greater
effort to smooth out my pace and soften my steps, and to lessen the sway of
every turn.

   It wasn't easy, because we had to hurry.  Aunt Carrie was shuffling off
towards her carriage, so we followed, and when we caught up with her, I
made the writing motion again, to let her know that I hoped for a moment
more of her time.

   She nodded, then motioned for her driver to help her up into the buggy.
As she settled back into her seat, I retrieved pen and paper again.  And
once again, I attempted to put Lera down, leveraging her feet up over the
steps and onto the floor of the buggy.  I started to release her so that
she could stand there while I wrote, but she rose to her full height and
just leaned over onto me, still with her hands around my neck.  This girl
knew a good thing when she had it, and still wasn't letting go!

   The front of her dress and my shirt were saturated with her pee, and
still wet - they tented out, clinging to each other as she towered over me,
and it was suddenly cold there as the breeze hit both our wet bodies!  So I
cupped my right hand over her bottom and pulled her too me again - we would
share in our bodily warmth together, no matter that we were soaked and
stank to high heaven.  I gladly made do, my face now buried within the damp
folds of her dress, her slender form pressing into me, from the side of my
forehead all the way down to my stomach.  I tracked every move she made,
one part of her body after another registering against mine, as she
undulated against me with every adjustment of her hold, with every turn of
her head.  I could feel the hardness of her bony knees pressed into my
chest, and the infinite softness of the backs of her thighs molded within
my hand.  I could smell her little girl scent, unwashed as it was, even
through the urine soaked fabric.  Breathing in the air around her, I was
awash in GIRL - MY girl, my LERA girl.

   My senses were attuned to all things Lera.  Not being a drinking man, at
times through the years I had mused about what it would be like to be
drunk, and now I knew.  I was intoxicated with her.  Every passing moment I
just wanted to immerse myself in all these new impressions of her, and if
time weren't pressing so, I would have focused on her and her alone, and
become giddy.  But there were still so many important things to get done
now.  We had lifetimes ahead of us, to get to know each other.

   The paper Aunt Carrie and I had been exchanging was a jumble of
notations.  I stuffed it back into my pocket, and fished out a small
notebook that I carried everywhere with me to jot down reminders of things
that needed doing around the ranch.  Opening it to a fresh page, I quickly
started writing, resting the notebook on the carriage floor, and peeking
around Lera's clinging form:

   'Aunt Carrie, I will never forget what you have done for us this day.  I
can never thank you enough.  And even now, I beg to ask of you even more.
Please tell Lera that I'm going to buy her some clothes and some ointment
for her burns.  Also, please tell her again that I cannot hear, but that
she can tell me things by pointing.  If she is hurting, point to her head,
if she is hungry, to her stomach, and so on.  And finally, could you take
her to your place - tell her I'll bring her new clothes there so she can
change, before I take her home.'

   I handed the notebook to her, and then gathered my Lera to me, lifting
her off the buggy floor and back into my full embrace again.  She seemed to
like that, laying upon me, resting her chin upon my shoulder.  I rocked
her, swinging her slowly and gently from side to side, as I waited for Aunt
Carrie to read my requests.

   The old woman finally looked up at me, her brow furrowed and her head
nodding almost imperceptibly side to side, in that way that people look at
you when presented with something they refuse to believe, or something
shocking, and I'll be damned if she didn't have tears welling up in those
old eyes.  I couldn't imagine what I might have written to cause this kind
of reaction in her.  Had I gone too far, asking for her help yet again,
asking to come to her house?  That was hard to believe, after all she had
done already.

   She made a swipe across her eyes, swatting away the tears, and she took
a good long look at me, and then at Lera, shook her head again in something
akin to disbelief, and then lowered her eyes back to the notebook and
started writing.  At the same time, I saw that she was talking.  She had to
be talking to Lera, and then she started looking up between words through
that film of tears, obviously giving my girl a running description of
whatever it was that she was writing.  Lera straightened up within my
grasp, listening attentively, nodded 'yes' several times, but then suddenly
shook her head 'no' emphatically, and leaned into me again, tightening her
grip around my neck.  She said something herself then, speaking quickly,
but not in panic, as before.  Stating her case, I could only imagine. 
Doing as I had suggested, telling us what she wanted.

   Aunt Carrie responded to her - nodding in acquiescence.  She seemed to
approve of whatever Lera had said.  She wrote a bit more, than handed the
notebook back to me.

   'I must be getting dotty in my old age, Ben.  I'm ashamed.  I should
have thought of it.  Before you had to ask.  Of course you'll come to my
house.  And more - it's much too late for you to take her all those miles
out to your place.  Your sainted mother would be wanting to tan my hide if
I allowed that.  Lera can have a bath at my place, and a nice supper.  I'll
have Cookie pluck a chicken.  Lera needs some of my hot soup!  And then
you'll sleep at my place, and head out first thing in the morning.  But she
says she wants to go with you, not in the buggy.  She just wants you to
hold her.  And she says her head hurts, but it always hurts, and she's
trying not to cry.  And the poor thing's embarrassed.  She's sorry that she
wet herself, and says please don't let anyone find out.  Now you get going,
Ben, and I'll meet you at my place.'

   It was my turn to be shocked.  My brave little girl!  All this time
hurting from the burns, but trying to hide it from us, and not cry!  I
cradled the back of her head, and leaned back, so that my breath would cool
before it touched her, and blew as softly as I could, my mouth open in a
circle to whoosh out a soothing caress across her wounded flesh.  She
responded immediately, closing her eyes, and moving her head around to
direct my breath from one spot on her forehead and scalp to another,
seeming to luxuriate in the effect of the unexpected cool breeze.  That her
features relaxed, even for a moment, was a blessing, and I wondered if a
cool compress would help even more.

   She had never yet even remotely broken into a smile and I guessed now
that she had never even truly been able to relax against me, until this
moment, and even now the effect was fleeting, the pain too ever-present for
her to forget for long.  I knew she had been in pain, but now I realized I
should have been reading the occasional tightening of her visage, her
tensing posture, the changing intensity of her grip, all the signs of the
gnawing pain.  She couldn't escape it for long, and I had to be aware of
that.

   Guiltily, I suddenly remembered the bandage that had slipped down, and
now hung loosely about her neck.  I started to lift it up back into place,
wondering if she would prefer that, or to leave her eyes uncovered.  The
cloth had just tiny, patchy faint stains on it, perhaps where a blister had
broken, but there was no blood.  I saw no sign of festering on her scalp,
and the cloth hadn't actually covered most of her wounds, so was it
actually serving any purpose?  She sensed my intent, and shook her head
'no,' so I let it drop onto her chest again.

   With that, she let her head fall back upon my chest again, and seemed to
just crumple against me, looking contented enough now that all the plans
had been made, to just let me hold her.  Her left arm was captured between
our bodies, and her right climbed up towards my shoulder, just resting
there - no longer clutching or grabbing.  It felt like my little girl was
ready now for whatever we had to do, so long as the two of us were
together. And I felt exactly the same way.

   Aunt Carrie's driver was back in his seat by now, ready to release the
brake and get the buggy moving with a flick of the reins at the old woman's
command.  Aunt Carrie started to raise her hand, but then Lera suddenly
straightened up like a bolt in my arms, her body tensed, and she called out
something loudly.  She grasped my shirt collar, jerking it without
thinking, even as her shout permeated into my consciousness like a faint,
but abrupt bell tone, followed by string of softer tones, but still sharp
and staccato - she was obviously agitated about something, speaking
rapidly. It was maddening, not being able to respond immediately.  Again I
was reminded of the difficulty we were going to have communicating.

   Aunt Carrie's hands went up to cover her mouth, as if in shock. 
Whatever Lera had said, it dismayed the old woman even more than before. 
She looked suddenly crestfallen, her shoulders slumping, all but defeated.
The old driver even turned his head back with a look of such ineffable
sorrow.  My heart started thumping again, as I wondered what could possibly
be causing such consternation all around.  Aunt Carrie reached out, signing
for the notebook and pencil again and wrote quickly and in a hasty script,
mirroring Lera's anxious tone.  As she turned the notebook so I could see
what she had written, she looked up at me, with that glistening of tears
forming there again.

   'Now Ben, Lera's left her dolly on the train!  To a girl, that's'

   at that point in the writing, she had stopped abruptly, as if she
couldn't express what she wanted to write fast enough.  She hurried on to
another thought:

   'Ben you go buy her a doll at the five and dime!  My gift to her.  Every
girl needs her dolly!'

   Well!  Now that was a relief!  I took a silent, but very deep breath.  I
wasn't quite stupid enough to show my relief to Lera's new Guardian Angel
though!

   I was a bachelor, almost completely naive in the wiles and ways of women
and girls, but I did have some experience with my own mother.  Frankly,
there had been times when she did things or thought things that I just
found, well, not necessarily silly, but not all that ... sensible.  There
was no way I was going to make that mistake in this instance.  First, that
doll WAS important to Lera.  She needed it.  She wanted it.  Important to
her, meant important to me.  And what about Aunt Carrie?  It dawned on me
that the enormity of the wonderful thing this old lady had done today, was
beginning to sink in for her.  She had saved two lives, Lera's and mine. 
At the very least, she had transformed us.  And now Lera wasn't just
another of many orphan children looking for a home any more.  She was
unique, one out of the many, an individual, with her own personality and
thoughts and concerns.

   Aunt Carrie looked up at me from beneath her wrinkled brow with the most
beseeching, glistening eyes, and I swear I saw in her gnarled, wizened old
visage the little girl that she once was, so many many years ago.  That
little girl was just begging for one more moment in the sun.  And to hold
her own dolly again.

   Thank goodness I had the doll and didn't have to disappoint either one
of them.  It was rolled up in Lera's torn dress, and, well, I had to hold
it somewhere, so ... I had been cushioning her bottom with it!  But I
hesitated a split second before just giving it to her.  Surely she would be
overjoyed to get it back, but ... damaged?  Did I really have a choice,
though?  She was upset about losing it, and as Aunt Carrie said, a little
girl without her dolly just wasn't right.

   I took the pencil from Aunt Carrie, and wrote on the notebook, as she
held it firmly open in her palm: 'I have the doll here wrapped up - the
train ran over it, and it's damaged, but I'll give it to her now.  How
about this - I'll buy some little doll clothes, or get them made, and give
them to Lera from you, so she can dress it up.  Please go ahead and tell
her I've got it.'

   I knew I had been right about the old woman, living vicariously through
Lera.  She was just overjoyed at the news, and she wasted no time in
telling my girl.  Lera jumped up straight in my arms, looking down and
around, as if she could search it out, and then the little sweetheart
turned back to me and awkwardly felt around till she could clamp both her
little hands on my cheeks!  If only there had been sight in her eyes!  She
would have seen me melt, as I saw her looking at me with such an immediate
expectation, and wonder, and belief in me.  I could only imagine that Daddy
had just taken a step up in his little daughter's estimation.  Well, who
was I to say that it had actually been Sister Mary who did the good deed,
rescuing the doll?

   She let go of me and held out her hands expectantly, and said something
to Aunt Carrie.

   I figured I'd better not waste any time either.  All it took was for me
to loosen my fingers a bit, and nudge the small bundle out from beneath
her. It tumbled down onto the floor of the buggy, and unrolled.  Out came
the little stuffed doll, and up went Aunt Carrie's hands to cover her mouth
again.  She was ecstatic, and just as happy for Lera as for herself - she
tilted her head and peered up at the little girl with such loving
tenderness.  Aunt Carrie quickly regained her senses and picked the doll
up, lifting it straight up to Lera, nudging it right against the girl's
hand.  All the sudden tension drained from my girl.  She quickly gathered
up the doll, cherishing it with both her hands, smoothing out the little
strings of hair on it's head, kissing it over and over again.

   She then turned back to me, leaning back in my grasp.  She looked
towards my face, then back at the doll, with those wide-open but unseeing
eyes of hers, and if she still wasn't able to give me a smile, mercifully
she just seemed like she could at least relax for a moment, and overcome
the pain and all the turmoil of the day.  She visibly sighed, and seemed to
slump down, the effort to hold herself up straight just too much for her.
She just kind of melted down and back against my supporting arms.  She knew
I would hold her up, and that seemed to be enough for her.

   Blindly she began to examine it, just as she had felt my cheek and my
lips earlier.  She came upon the smear of grease on the doll's chest, and
testedt the slickness, rubbing with her finger tips, pressing them together
and slowly swirling them one against the other.  She knew that whatever it
was, it hadn't been there before.  Nothing she found could stop her from
clasping the doll to her chest again, and holding it so tenderly.  Just
like I was holding her.  That's when she felt the stuffing that was leaking
from the split fabric along the doll's side, and she ran her fingers along
the area that had been squashed so flat by the train's wheel.

   She seemed to consider all the damage for a moment, then spoke, saying
something hushed, and so faint that it was almost a mere figment of my
imagination, but there was nothing left of the anxiety she had felt just
moments before.  She continued, just as softly, saying something down to
Aunt Carrie, then she turned back to me and held the doll up between us
again, this time turning it very deliberately in her little hands, to face
me.

   As Lera turned back to face me, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Aunt
Carrie's hands jump to her face for the third time, and when I glanced at
her, she was sobbing, her rumpled old body just shaking with her emotion. I
looked anxiously back at Lera.  Whatever she had said, she had affected the
old woman deeply, but perhaps I was mistaking Aunt Carrie's reaction - Lera
didn't look at all upset herself now - she just gave me that wide-eyed
blind stare - again looking at me so expectantly, almost solemnly, waiting
for me to do something.  I must have looked the idiot then, my mouth
hanging open.  For once I couldn't even imagine what Lera was trying to
tell me.  She wanted me to do something with the doll?  I wasn't going to
panic again, but I so desperately wanted to do anything that Lera desired
from me.  I leaned over till I could just nudge Aunt Carrie's hand. 
Through her tears, she looked up at me, and I shrugged a question with my
shoulders, nodding towards Lera.

   Aunt Carrie took up the notebook and pencil again, and started writing,
this time more deliberately, occasionally wiping away a tear.  She spoke to
Lera too, reassuring her, probably telling her what she was writing.  Then
she turned the notebook and held it out for me to read:

   'Ben Colter, Lera is just so precious.  You have a huge responsibility
now, and don't you ever let this girl down.  She's just a darling little
thing.  She thinks mighty highly of you already, and I know you can live up
to what she needs.  She just said that she's been hurting all the time, but
you made her feel better, and her doll was all sad because she was lost on
the train, and then you saved her.  Ben, she treats the doll like it's her
best friend.  I think its part of what's gotten her through all the pain of
the burns.  Maybe that little make-believe is ALL that's gotten her
through. She acts like Dolly's been burned too.  She calls it Dolly.  She
wants you to blow on Dolly, Ben.  Just like you did on her burns.  She says
you'll make them both feel better.  And that you'll know how to fix them
both.'

   Well, that did it for me.  From the time I rode up to the Orphan Train
meeting till now, little more than an hour of my life had gone by, but in
that blink of an eye, I had gone from being a hopelessly lonely recluse,
with - to be brutally truthful - very little purpose in life, other than to
just exist - I had gone from that to ... well, I had a little girl in my
arms now who ... dammit, she had just commissioned me to take on the role
of healer, care-giver, guardian, protecter ... father!  And she trusted me
to do it all!  Lera didn't have much - a torn dress, an unmatched sock, and
a battered, torn doll, and yet she was so sure of me that she would entrust
me to take care of her most prized possession.  How more clearly could she
have proven that if I was anything, I WAS HER DADDY?

   How many times had I cried already today.  Me, who refused to shed even
one tear as a 5 year old, when my father died?  For Lera, and Lera alone, I
had already cried today out of desperate want and need.  Tears of doubt. 
Tears of sure loss.  Then of overwhelming gladness.

   Now I had softer tears, of just pure gratitude, for all the
possibilities before us, this little girl and me.  Through those tears, I
smiled again.  Even though my little girl couldn't see it, perhaps she
would sense it.

   I did exactly as she asked.  Pursing my lips, I took a calming breath,
and then blew softly towards Dolly, a cooling, wafting message directly
from my soul, through her cherished doll, to my girl.  As she felt the
calming breeze upon her hands, and on her Dolly, she had to know that I
would always try to live up to her expectations.  I would never give her
reason to regret her trust in me.  I would give my very life to make her
hurts go away.

   ------------------------

   Lera could hardly believe it, listening to Aunt Carrie tell her about
all the things her new Daddy was going to do - buy her new clothes, take
her to her new home with her own room and her own bed.  She had just ....
never thought ... that it would ever happen.  It was something all the kids
dreamed about, but now it was really happening.  SHE had a home.  And this
man ....  He was hers too, not just like the others who had come to the
orphanage and brought things for all the children.  The dress he was going
to buy would be just for her, not just one out of box of hand-me-downs
donated by strangers.  He was her Daddy, and not anyone else's ....

   He promised to get some new medicine for her burns, too.  He wanted to
take away all the hurting.  He wouldn't even let anyone make fun of her
anymore.  He promised to hold her the whole time while they were at the
store, so no one could see how she peed on herself, and then they were
going to Aunt Carrie's house to finally get cleaned up - it seemed like
weeks since all the kids had been allowed to shower at the orphanage,
before the train trip.  And Aunt Carrie said she was going to have her cook
make the most wonderful food to eat - her very own chicken soup, and some
pie with cream, and milk - all the milk she could drink, and all the pie
she could eat with rivers of cream, Aunt Carrie promised.

   She did believe it, though - what Aunt Carrie said, and what HE said. 
What he WAS.

   Daddy.

   Her Daddy.

   All of a sudden, through all the wonder of everything that had happened,
of all the things she could have now, what she wanted most was just to lie
back down on his shoulder and let him BE her Daddy.  He could blow on the
burns again, and again, and the pain would go away for a bit then, and he
would blow again when she asked ... and maybe she could just ... she wanted
to relive every moment of today, and think about it all, but ... she was so
tired, and finally, with him, she could really rest ....

   Lera leaned forward against her Daddy's chest and let out a long breath.

   If given the chance, she wouldn't change anything about today - except
for that awful, constant pain.  She would miss all the other kids, but now
they had homes too.  Maybe she could see them again, now that she had a
home here too.  All of them had wanted homes, even if they didn't say so.
She had had to say goodbye to Sister Mary forever, but the Sister had said
it was ok, that she was happy to see Lera in a good home.  She didn't even
care anymore about having to stand in front of that crowd, with everyone
yelling around her and calling her names.  It didn't matter anymore, about
peeing on herself in front of all those people.  None of that mattered. 
She had her Ben, her Daddy, and he would take care of that too.  Everything
was going to be perfect now, no more being alone, no more ....

   A sudden image formed in her mind.  Out of nowhere.

   Dolly!

   Her doll had been right there on the pallet with her, on the floor of
the train, and when she woke up ... why hadn't she picked up Dolly!?

   A searing, hot stab of jarring pain tore down across her scalp as she
jerked her head off her Daddy's chest and shot upright, and she even felt
the flash of fire going deep inside her, like she was burning up with the
shock of what she had done.  She had left Dolly!  On the train!  She had to
go get her ... but the train was GONE!

   To just leave her there on the train - how could she have done that! 
There had been so little time, with Sister Mary hurrying her to stand
before the crowd at the station ... and never really believing ....  No one
was going to take her, so it wasn't like she had really abandoned Dolly,
was it?  It was just that someone HAD claimed her!

   She had to do something.  Even if the train had left, but ... could ...

   Her Daddy would do something!

   She had to tell him.  But she couldn't tell him!  "Aunt Carrie!" she
cried out, turning her head about blindly.  She wasn't even sure where the
old woman was.  "Aunt Carrie, I ... tell my Daddy ... quick!  I left Dolly!
Please, can he ..."

   "Calm down now, child, tell me what's wrong!" Aunt Carrie barked out
sharply, breaking through the panic.  In the pitch-black darkness that
surrounded her, Lera wanted to reach out for the old woman, but instead she
clutched again at her Daddy's shirt.  He was the only one who could do
something now.

   "I left my Dolly on the train.  My doll!  I forgot her, and now she's
all alone going back to ... can ... my Daddy ... can Daddy please get her
back?

   "Oh my goodness, Lera!" Aunt Carrie cried out.  Lera could hear the
anguish in the old woman's voice.  "But child, the trains already ... here,
I'll write Ben ... your daddy, a note right now.  Just don't expect too
much, child."

   Lera held her breath.  It would take so long for Aunt Carrie to write
the note, and every minute the train was getting farther and farther away.
What would her Daddy say?  What would he write back?  Could he ... he just
had to ... but even as she thought it, Lera knew it was impossible for even
her Daddy to do anything now.  As far in the past as she could remember,
Dolly had been her best friend of all.  The others might leave, but not
Dolly.  And now she was the one who had forgotten about her very best
friend ever!

   Lera had often wondered, had Dolly come with her from Russia?  Or had
she been homeless and lost too, and placed in the orphanage?  All Lera knew
for sure was that when she woke up every morning, Dolly was there.  When
they washed up, or went to the dining hall, or romped in the playground,
Dolly was there.  When she laid her head on her pillow at night, Dolly was
always there.

   Could her Daddy do anything!?

   Lera finally let herself breathe again.  She felt her Daddy leaning
over. Writing.  She knew if anyone could do something it would be him.  He
was the one who who caught her, when she fell.  He had held her, and
wouldn't let anyone else take her back.  He was only one who said he wanted
her, and would keep her forever and take care of her ... he was the only
one who knew how to make the pain go away.

   She wanted to grasp for his hands, and maybe she could tell what he was
writing.  She wanted to look into his eyes, and plead with him, and then he
would ... he could ... could they go to the next station before the train
got there?  No, that wouldn't work, but ... he would think of something, if
she just let him write it ... she felt her Daddy moving.  Was he writing?
He leaned in.  Towards Aunt Carrie ... what had he written?  If only Aunt
Carrie would read it fast then maybe they COULD stop the train ....

   "Lera!" Aunt Carrie called up to her excitedly.  "Ben ... Lord o'mercy
girl!  Your daddy has Dolly!"

   Without even thinking about it, Lera bounced up in her Daddy's arms,
releasing her grip and then clutching at him again wildly.  He had dolly?!
"Where is she, Aunt Carrie?  Can I have her?" she pleaded?

   "He's been holding her all this time!" the old woman exclaimed, "Sister
Mary dropped Dolly off the train for you, and Ben picked her up!"

   Lera wanted to just cry out and scream her thanks.  But he wouldn't be
able to hear her!  She reached up then, searching for his face again wildly
in all her excitement, just wanting to squeeze and hug him.  She found his
cheeks and clapped her hands against them, cupping his face and shaking it
from side to side.

   Her Daddy was shuffling around and Lera felt his hand moving, under her
bottom, where he was holding her, like he was fumbling with something.  It
tickled, but she didn't want to laugh.  She just wanted her Dolly back so
much.

   "There she is!" Aunt Carrie called out.  "Here, let me get her...," the
old woman groaned, straining.  Lera released her grip on her Daddy again
and reached out blindly, then freezing her hands in place, her fingers
splayed, waiting for the touch.  Dolly wasn't lost!

   And then she felt it, as the soft stuffed plumpness was pushed into her
open palm, and she wrapped both her hands around it and rushed to hug it
against her chest, kissing it over and over and closing her eyes tightly -
not against the darkness, but like this way she could somehow concentrate
every single one of her thoughts and think it silently - her thanks!  And
maybe that way her Daddy could hear her.  He had saved Dolly!

   Madly, she ran her fingers over the doll then, pressing, testing - was
she ok?  There was something gooey and kind of slippery on her belly, but
her hair was ok - if only she had a brush she would comb it out right now!
Then she felt along Dolly's side, and there was a big cut there, and
Dolly's insides were spilling out!  But Dolly was going to be ok now, even
if she was cut, and even if she had been hurting too, ever since that acid
spilled on them.  Maybe she had cried, on the train and felt all lost, but
now ....

   Her Daddy had to see.  He was Dolly's Daddy too!

   Lera proudly held up her Dolly.  He would take care of both of them.  If
he saw how she was hurt, he would fix her!

   "Aunt Carrie," she said, "Can you ask him ... my Daddy ... can you ask
him to make Dolly feel better, like he did with me?  I think he put some
cream on her already.  Could he blow on her, like he did me?  She's been
suffering so much, since the burns happened, and we've ... she's been
crying a lot ...."

   "Oh Lera!," Aunt Carrie exclaimed.  "Of course I'll ask your Daddy that,
sweetheart.  I surely will.  I'll write it out right now."

   It seemed like forever, but all Lera could do was wait.  She had had a
lot of waiting for things she wanted in her life, and she was used to it.
There was never any end to waiting in the orphanage, and she didn't know
why this time the waiting was so hard - then she felt her heart skip a beat
with the realization - perhaps it was because she didn't have to wait so
long anymore.  She didn't have to wait for a family to take her with them
anymore.  She didn't have to wait till it was her group's turn in the
dining room anymore.  Or for the once a year donations of clothes, or ....
anything.  Her Daddy wouldn't make her wait anymore, and just as soon as
Aunt Carrie could write it, Dolly wasn't going to have to wait any more
either.

   "He's reading it now, Lera.  I know he'll help Dolly too," Aunt Carrie
finally said.

   The cooling air brushed against her fingers without warning, and on
Dolly too, out of the darkness.  But she had known it would come like that!
It washed over them both, and even blew farther - Lera felt it against her
own scalp, and knew just what Dolly would feel.  It really was true.  For
the first time in their lives, there was someone just for them.  If they
asked, HE answered.  If they wanted something, HE made it happen.

   She sent out her silent thanks again, and nodded her head up and down
slowly.  He would see that, and know how he made her feel.

   And then she felt something that she hadn't expected - a kiss!  Her
Daddy's lips!  On her fingers, and on Dolly!  And suddenly silent thanks
just weren't enough.  Her Daddy deserved so much more.  And he was HER
Daddy, and she could do just what any other little girl would have a right
to do right now.

   Shyly, hesitantly - not knowing how to do it, not ever having done it
before - she couldn't even remember ever doing it with her momma or her
papa before, and if she had, those memories were lost to the sea just as
surely as her parents had been - she clasped Dolly tightly, drawing
strength from her, and leaned forward, reaching with her lips pursed
towards her Daddy.  And just as he had kissed Dolly, and brushed his lips
against her own fingers, now she felt her Daddy's lips meet her own ....

   Nothing in her whole life had ever felt so right as that oh so soft
touch.  No one had ever, in all her memory, had a kiss just for her alone.
Very deliberately now, with no more hesitation, no more sense that she
might not know how, no more panic, no more fear, no more grasping, Lera let
her lips slide apart from her Daddy's, and she leaned closer, slowly and
calmly this time, reaching up with her hands, carrying Dolly with her, and
placed them around her Daddy's neck and pressed her cheek firmly against
his.

   He was her Daddy.  He would take care of her forever, and would always
care about what was important to her.  She knew it, and she felt it, as he
drew her completely and so gently within his arms and held her close.  As
before, Lera felt his heartbeat thrumming within his chest, and this time
she felt her own too.  She listened - his loud BOOM Boom, then her softer
Boom boom, first the one, then the other, back and forth in rhythm, and
then she marveled as the beating seemed closer together, and then closer
still, his meeting hers, then hers melding into his ...  till they sounded
as one ....

   ------------------------

   As I blew my cooling breath over her Dolly and her hands, I had but an
instant to wait, before knowing that Lera had received my message, that I
would always, always try to heal her hurts.  She nodded up and down slowly,
as soon as she felt the cooling breeze.  It was all the affirmation I
needed to make my day complete, such a simple acknowledgment, but I felt my
gratitude for her and for this day grow to overflowing.  I had to offer
thanks in some way, but I couldn't tell her with words, and she couldn't
see the expression on my face!  There was only touch - the tenderness of my
embrace told her much of what I felt for her, but how to offer her more?

   Had she given me permission?  Was it now my privilege, as her Daddy?  I
didn't know, but she had trusted me, and now I would trust her to
understand ... as I leaned forward and kissed her fingers where they
wrapped around Dolly.

   That she felt my thanks, and that she understood, was certain, because
then my little girl did something that just ... well, it put a seal on
everything we had done this day.  She formed her perfect her lips and
leaned in too, still holding Dolly in both her hands, and she felt with her
lips blindly towards me.  My breath caught in my throat, and my heart
pounded so hard that I could swear I heard it.  A kiss!  For me, this
time?!

   Every bit of my awareness was instantly focused on that heavenly
possibility, of her tender lips seeking mine.  Her head bobbed and wavered
in tiny motions, blindly seeking her target.  I had but to lean in ... 
till we met!  It was nothing less than a consummation of our beginning
together!  I had been holding her for perhaps half an hour by now,
luxuriating in the force of her legs wrapped around my waist, the softness
of her flesh, the curve of her back, the sharp ridges of her shoulder
blades, her silken hair ... her scent!  The warmth of her body, as it
permeated me, the wetness from her accident anointing me - I had felt all
those things, but now the small circle of her lips pressing with all the
warmth of her being against mine was my whole world for that instant - my
past, my present, my future!  How many hundreds, thousands of times had I
imagined kissing the girl of my dreams, represented by the nude waif on
that old post card that I had stared at every evening.  And now this living
girl, who was more real than any dream - my Lera!  She kissed me!

   It seemed so natural, and right, what happened to me then, as my manhood
grew almost instantly erect, straining upwards, lifting within my
long-johns, feeling like it was growing to a length and a hardness that I
had never known, on all those evenings when I had dreamed of a special girl
in my life.  I had no trouble hiding it, edging closer to the buggy, but I
swear that I instantly knew that I had no reason to feel shame.

   Lera's presence in my life, her body, her warmth, her being - they did
and would stir feelings and thoughts in me that I was going to have to deal
with - I had after all spent practically thirty years of my life dreaming
of a girl like her, and relieving all my emotional tensions, wishes,
desires and forlorn hopes on a nightly basis, by imagining making love to
such a girl, stroking myself to completion.  I was nothing, if not always
brutally honest with myself.  At this moment, however, I knew that my
arousal had nothing to do with my nightly ritual This was all about me
finally becoming a man in real life, not just in dreams.  For THIS girl. 
For Lera!  It was a mighty boon that Lera had granted me with her kiss, and
the power of it coursed through my whole body.  My heart raced, every
muscle on my frame tensed, my swollen testicles ached, and I swear I might
have climaxed untouched, right then and there in an explosion of realized
dreams, so powerful was her presence within me.

   I could take on any challenge, with the strength that this little girl
had granted me, and I would do so, from this moment forward.  I willed down
my straining manhood, consciously transferring every iota of my power as a
man into my determination to BE Lera's Daddy.

   She broke our kiss.  It had affected me so, that I might have felt that
sudden loss like a fall into an abyss, but my girl knew how to retrieve me
- she placed her cheek against mine again!  And clasped her hands around my
neck again, just as she had done earlier to signal the union between us.  I
enveloped her in my embrace all the more tenderly then, drawing her and her
dolly to me, cherishing her.

   She relaxed willingly within my arms.  We merged again.  And we were
One.



   --------------------------------------

   It was hard to recover from such a fist kiss so quickly, but I had to do
it.  The glow would linger on, I knew, and that was some consolation.  The
bigger by far, was that when Aunt Carrie's buggy rolled away from the
station, my Lera was still with me!

   And so it was time to be about the rest of our lives together.  First to
our horse, still standing placidly where I had tied him to a hitching post
behind the station platform.

   Needless to say, I had come to see the Orphan Train completely
unprepared for taking care of a child.  I would have brought a blanket and
some food, at least, to tide her over during the long miles out to the
ranch.  No, I would have brought a wagon.  But here we were.  A horse, and
a bag of oats in the otherwise empty saddlebags, and an old army canteen
full of water tied to the saddlehorn.

   It was now late afternoon.  The sun was lowering, and the Spring air was
already chilling to a temperature that would be uncomfortable for any
child, much less a hurt and scared, and no doubt hungry little girl.  I
hadn't even brought a jacket for myself, not thinking that I would linger
in town after the departure of the Orphan Train.  So all I could do till we
got to the store for some purchases, was to drape Lera's torn dress over
her.

   I retrieved the canteen, unstoppered it, and held it up to Lera's hand
first, where she still clutched my shirt.  She felt the cold touch of the
metal with a bit of a start, bringing her head up, her eyes wide, but then
she explored its surface and found the spout.  It took her but an instant
to understand what it was.  With my steadying help, she lifted it to her
mouth and wasted no time in eagerly drinking down the quenching liquid
within.  She was one thirsty girl!  She chugged the water in almost a
convulsion, like she had never had a drink before, letting little droplets
spill across her lips to run down her chin in rivulets.

   I think she must have felt my chuckle - or heard it - I have no idea
what kind of sound I make, if indeed I do at all, when I laugh.  To me it's
more like a convulsion of my own, in my chest.  She must have felt that,
because she stopped draining the water down, and then once again did
something that took me totally by surprise, and just added to my joy at
having her suddenly in my life.  She tipped the flask away from her lips,
towards mine, and bearing most of the weight all by herself in trembling
hands almost overburdened with the task, tried to guide it to my mouth. 
Such a sweetheart!

   Yes, perhaps I was over-reacting a bit, in my estimation of just how
marvelous a little girl she was - but I think I could be indulged in that.
She WAS a sweetheart.  To think about me, when she was the one suffering
so.

   I took my swig in turn, then offered the flask back to her.  She emptied
it down her throat right then and there.  I figured she was just as hungry
as she had been thirsty.  We had to get going.

   With the now empty flask stored away, I untied OUR horse, Smokey - it
pleased me mightily that I had already started to think in terms of 'ours'
rather then 'mine' - and then I let Lera feel the two thin-leather reins.
She explored them, feeling their surface and dimensions, and then I turned
towards Smokey, took Lera's hand in mine and guided it to touch the side of
Smokey's neck.  She tentatively patted him, and nodded.

   I was elated, thinking that we were making something of a good start on
learning to communicate with each other.  At the very least, I wanted her
to have the sense that whatever we did, wherever we went, we were doing it
together.  She wasn't just being carried willy-nilly and forced to endure
things beyond her ken.

   But she was a tired little girl, and didn't linger over the novelty of
petting Smokey.  She looked like she was hurting again, and no sooner had
she drawn her hand back than she closed her eyes.  Her little mouth was
turned down at the corners, and her lips were quivering.  I knew she was
fighting back tears again, against the pain.  That just tore my heart out.
I started to blow softly across her brow again, and was thankful when she
seemed to relax a bit, and laid her head down on my shoulder - carefully
snuggling herself onto me, so that her blisters didn't unexpectedly scrape
and flare up in pain.  I couldn't see if she still had her eyes closed, but
she let out a sigh that I felt against my neck, seeming to announce how
weary she was, and that for a moment at least, she wanted nothing more than
to rest.

   I started off across the street, leading Smokey behind us, headed for
the general store, From what I sensed, feeling how regular and soft her
breath became after that, as it moistened against my neck, she must have
fallen into a blessed sleep almost instantly.

   And that's the way she remained, all through my rounds up and down the
aisles in the general store.  The storekeeper knew me well.  My mother and
I had maintained an account there for close to thirty years by now, so even
though Mr.  McGuffy gave us a rather astonished look when the two of us
entered, he had no hesitation about calling for his wife to come up from
their rooms behind the store, once I had written out some of what I wanted.
Lera and I together exuded a rather sharp aroma, but I'll give it to those
two - with nary a pinched nose or wry expression, they gathered items from
one shelf or drawer after another, and measured for her clothes from the
torn dress that I had covered Lera with.  I didn't want to wake Lera, so
Old Lady McGuffey made a rough comparison of her's shoes with those on the
shelf.

   Through it all, even with the sales clerk lifting Lera's little foot to
match against the soles of the new ones, she slept soundly.  She was like a
rag doll in my arms, but so light that I wasn't feeling much of a burden.
My only problem was trying to avoid adjusting my hold too much.  I wanted
her to sleep - it was the obvious way for her to escape the pain of her
acid burns for a while.

   By the time we had finished, there was a pile of items on the main
counter ready to wrap up, including an already wrapped package containing a
new pair of frilly unmentionables - I had blushed when I saw those
discretely pulled out of a drawer - but of course we had to have them. 
There was also a little folded pile of doll clothes, which Mrs.  McGuffy
had been just delighted to search the shelves for.  She wrapped those in a
small packet too.

   Before we made the final tally, I asked for some rose water.  Damascus
Rose, the clerk wrote down at the bottom of the list.  A small flask of it,
that cost me a fair penny, but for my girl, it was certainly worth it, and
I already had in mind exactly how I was going to make use of it - for there
was one more item I had to have, and this one I could only obtain at our
next stop, the livery stable.  Dr.  Dobbin's Horse Balm, 'guaranteed remedy
for any ache or injury to your livestock,' stated the florid script on the
label, but I didn't need that guarantee, because I had used it many times
to soothe saddle sores, heal lacerations, sore joints and muscles, on both
horses and cattle.  And not a few times on myself, for cuts, rashes, burns.
Dr.  Dobbin's Horse Balm worked, and I had no doubt it was just the thing
for Lera's scorched forehead and scalp.  Her skin there was searing red,
the blisters were milky-colored pale lumps, and some of them had been torn
open.  Those might fester if not treated properly.  Mixed with the rose
water, I hoped the horse balm would give her relief from the constant pain
and the stink of her old medicine, and go a long way towards restoring her
wounded flesh to the clear, smooth white translucence of her natural
complexion.

   At the livery stable, Ol' Joe, who had been tending the stock there for
longer than I had been alive, acted like it was nothing out of the ordinary
for me to traipse in with a waif in my arms.  He took one look at her scalp
and knew immediately what I was there for.  He took down a tin of Horse
Balm and handed it to me, then raised his palm up, waiving away any
payment. I just stood there a moment, forcing back the tears that suddenly
threatened to well up again.  All I could do was nod, in thanks, and in
acknowledgment of what his gesture meant to me.  To us.  Ol' Joe twisted
his toothless, wrinkled old visage into what must have been his version of
a smile, then reached out his gnarled old hands and very gently took one of
Lera's dangling feet up, being careful not to wake her, and gave her shoe a
little pat.  That was enough payment for him, it seemed.  He let go of her
foot, waved at us again, then turned back to his seat against a post and
pulled his hat back down over his eyes.

   There were some good people that I had come up against this day - a nun
whom I knew only by her saintly name, an old woman who had become our
guardian angel, store clerks who hadn't batted an eye seeing me as a new
Daddy, and here was Ol' Joe.  Of course I had never had a word with any of
these people through more than thirty years, but it seemed like Lera took
care of that.  Somehow, we were all talking the same language now, and the
gentle conversation was all about her.

   The sun was settling onto the horizon, with dusk trailing just behind
it, by the time I carried my still sleeping, bedraggled, hurt little girl
to the edge of town, where Aunt Carrie's home sat perched on a rise
overlooking the whole area.  Someone must have been on the lookout for us,
because the household was ready to our call when we walked up the graveled
loop in front of the mansion.  As befitting one of the county's founding
families, and certainly the wealthiest, it was worthy of being called a
mansion - manicured lawn and garden behind a long white picket fence
fronting the end of the private road, two stories gabled and steepled, with
a covered veranda that circled the entire structure.  Old Gus came around
the corner of the house and took Smokey's reins from me as I emptied the
saddlebags.  A plump old woman in aprons and a bonnet, with a dusting of
flour on her hands and skirt, must have been the cook, or perhaps the maid.
She came down off the steps and offered to take Lera from me, but I just
smiled, hoping I managed to look grateful for her kind gesture, and shook
my head no.  She took the packages then, and motioned a welcome up the
steps.  Through the screen door I saw Aunt Carrie herself.

   The old woman clapped her hands together and smiled so broadly, seeing
the way Lera was sleeping, her head on my shoulder.  She held the door open
for us and gazed at my girl beatifically, tipping her head to the side to
get a peek at Lera's peacefully sleeping expression as we passed - her
first chance to see Lera without the taut mask against pain that she had
worn at the station.  We entered into a large, sumptuously appointed living
room, with couches, chairs, tables and more gewgaws on mantles and
side-tables and shelves than I had seen in my life altogether in one place,
I guessed.  From the globes of gas lanterns creamy white light washed over
the room and down the hallway leading into the rest of the house.  I saw
that the cook disappear down the corridor, leaving our package and the tin
of horse balm on a hallway cabinet.

   I had almost hesitated to step across the threshold, worried about the
bedraggled condition Lera and I were in.  Still sleeping, and after that
huge drink she had taken at the station, Lera had had another little
accident while we were walking to Aunt Carrie's place, wetting us both
again.  It had taken me completely by surprise, feeling that hot stream
saturating her dress and my clothes, and spreading downwards even into my
pants.  But the shock just reminded me how exhausted Lera was, and perhaps
how weak she was from her injury, and maybe even hunger.  All the stress of
everything she had been through since boarding that Orphan Train, was bound
to take a toll on her.  I'd soon be able to take care of that, giving her a
stable home and regular meals, but today Lera had been through the mill.

   Aunt Carrie noticed the wet patch on my pants, and pointed up to Lera
knowingly.  I just nodded.  The old woman nodded back, and held up one
finger, as in 'wait just one moment.' I followed her over to a writing desk
by a window, where she started writing something, standing over the desk.
Then she handed the paper to me.

   'I was thinking she would want to eat first, but the poor thing is
asleep and wet again.  And you stink a lot worse than I thought!  You'll
want to give her a bath right now, I suspect - and you too!'

   I read it, and nodded that it was just what I had in mind, but I imagine
Aunt Carrie saw an involuntary look of surprise, and perhaps even a bit of
my hesitancy cross my face.  I had been thinking about the bath, and I
hadn't the slightest bit of doubt that I could and would take care of Lera,
helping her bathe, doing anything for her that she needed - especially
while she got used to being blind.  But ... well, we were still in town,
guests at Aunt Carries place, and there was that issue of propriety, and
all, when women were present.  It's not like I had a lot of experience in
this area, so I would have deferred, if Aunt Carrie had wanted a maid to
wash Lera this time - while in her home, she had the right to maintain
whatever appearances she wanted.

   Proving herself just as sharp now as she had been all day, the old
battleaxe jerked out another piece of paper from a drawer and started
scribbling, then handed it to me.  She had one brow raised when she looked
up at me.  Kind of like she was daring me all of a sudden.

   'What!  You expect Cookie to give your daughter a bath and cook supper
too?  Or me?  I plan to sit back and relax till we eat.  I don't give a fig
what the ninnies in the Sunday Circle think about all this.  Now I wrote
out instructions about using my fancy bath works.  You get your daughter in
there.  I might nod off a bit, but Cookie will have the table set when you
two get out.  Now git!'

   She had been planning our evening, long before we got to her house,
because she already had another paper on the desk, full of writing, that
she gave to me now.  I took it, somewhat sheepishly perhaps.  Not because I
had any reluctance to take care of Lera's bathing, but because I had
doubted the old woman at all.  I should have known better, by now.



   ----------------------------

   'Ben, I take my baths with a bucket out by the privy, but Mr.  Mays, God
rest his soul, always had grand ideas.  Just before he Passed, he built us
a Water Works, he called it.  Hot and cold water, all you could want, and
one of the new-fangled flush toilets.  I don't know what all those pipes
and wheels are for in there, but you'll figure it out.  Now you give Lera a
nice, warm bath.  You'll have her new clothes, and we'll wash her dirty
clothes tonight.  Yours too.  I had Cookie put some of Mr.  Mays clothes in
the water works for you - you know he was a big man too.  You saw him.'

   A big man with big ideas indeed.  This was a surprise.  I had heard all
about the hot springs Mr.  Mays staked out when they first came to the
county back in the '50s, before the big rush after the war.  So he and Aunt
Carrie had taken some prime land.  By the time he died, he owned half the
county and pretty much ran things.  I was kind of intrigued by his 'water
works' thing.

   After letting me read the paper, Aunt Carrie led me down the hallway and
showed me a door.  She waved her hand at it.  I retrieved the balm and the
package of Lera's things on the cabinet, and opened the door.  There was
another short corridor, the walls of which were sheeted in what looked like
richly-colored gray marble, and beyond, a much larger room that could only
be the Water Works - for there it was - not a bucket, not a tub, but
something I might have drawn up in my imagination from an ancient Roman
villa - marble slabbed steps, shimmering in sparkling clear water, and
leading down from floor level into a small sunken pool!

   The bathing room was aglow in the same softly muted light from gas
globes - old man Mays had been instrumental in getting the town plumbed for
gas back in the '90s.  The walls, the floor, even the ceiling were
appointed in that same gray marble.  Had I not known better, I might have
thought the whole room had been carved from native rock.

   The air was warm and moist - not clinging and cloyingly humid, but with
a clean spring-fed smell and feel, like the pool was filled with running
water, not stagnant.  Even though it was warmer here than outside, I didn't
feel like it would cause Lera's scalp burns to flare up.  She still slept
soundly.

   I stepped farther into the marbled corridor almost hesitantly.  This was
a sumptuousness unlike anything I had read about in all my books and in
newspaper descriptions of the homes of East Coast magnates.  Aunt Carrie
tapped on by back.  I turned, and she pointed out the latch and lock on the
door, motioning for me to feel free to lock it.  No one would interrupt us.
Then she pulled the door shut, and Lera and I were alone.

   I carried her into the bath room, taking in the details.  Sure enough,
two saw small pipes extended up out of the the floor on one side of the
pool, forming spouts from which water fell steadily, making a soft,
continuous gurgle.  There were valves on each spout, that could be opened
or shut off to regulate the water temperature, I guessed.  There must have
been a pipe draining water away too, for the surface of the water was all
the way up to the level of the floor, but not overflowing.  I stooped to
test the water.  It wasn't hot, but it was certainly comfortably, tepidly
warm.  From one spout the water was flowing much hotter, and from the other
cold.  I would have to be careful before letting the mixture touch Lera's
scalp, but she would certainly enjoy immersing her body in it.

   Looking around, there were more wonders to behold.  A fireplace and
chimney built into one wall - unlit now.  No need for it in the late
Spring. And in an alcove, off in a corner farthest from the pool, the
toilet.  Nothing like the earth box I was so proud of in my own home, to be
sure!  Here I had been for the last few years thinking I was so far ahead
of the times, with my indoor privy - I had imported that earth box from
England - but this ... a flushable toilet!  A raised wash-stand and counter
against the other wall, and nearby shelves containing towels and soaps and
... it was like being in a palace.  There seemed to be more riches here
than in my whole house.

   Riches fit for a queen.  Or a little princess.  My Princess Lera.

   It was time to get my girl bathed and treated for her burns.  Extending
out from the far wall parallel to the open side of the pool, was a marble
topped bench, with another marble slab serving as a backrest.  There upon
the bench were the clothes that Aunt Carrie had promised me.  Pants, shirt,
even slippers.  Before this bench was enough space for me to kneel down, to
take off Lera's shoes.  Beyond that, the marbled steps within the pool
itself, leading down into what looked like perhaps a three-foot deep pool.

   I knelt slowly before the bench and deposited our stuff atop the clothes
and pushed them near the wall, then ever so carefully I slid Lera's little
bottom onto the bench.  The last thing I wanted to do was to startle her -
she might awake with a fright when she realized I wasn't holding her
anymore, so I held my breath as I removed my arms from behind her, and laid
her back against the bench.  Her little head lolled forward and her
shoulders were slumped down - she was like the little stuffed doll that she
still held in one hand - like her very bones had melted in her exhaustion.
The front of her dress and my shirt were sodden with her urine, and now
that I had sat her down, the smell rose up freely, almost overpoweringly.
The fabric of our clothes clung together, and lifted out as I settled her
against the backrest, peeling apart slowly in a flowing wave till I finally
pulled them completely apart.

   Her tiny shoes were doll-like too - at least to me.  I had huge feet,
and in comparison, hers were miniature, fairy-like.  Her little ankles were
encased in the black leather shoe tops, and they were laced all the way to
the top.  Her socks were wet, just like the front of her dress.  Above that
I could just peek at her slim legs rising up beneath the hem of her
sack-like dress.  Rivulets of her pee were mixed with the grit on her
unwashed flesh, leaving streaks that I would soon rinse away.

   I looked up at her and froze, losing track of all time again - for it
was actually the first time I had really gotten a chance to see her face
closeup, in repose, with no distraction.

   She was angelic!

   An alabaster complexion, where the burns didn't mar her skin.  She was
pale from hurt and exhaustion and hunger, but that did not belie the
perfect, clear whiteness of her skin's tone.  The pinkness of her lips, the
delicate red tracery of tiny veins at the opening of her nostrils and
marking the crenelations of her ears - those colors stood out all the more
starkly against the purity of her skin.  Her eyebrows and lashes, over her
closed eyes, could have been drawn on from a palette of silvers and golds,
with a brush so fine that the artist would have to steady his hand to keep
from trembling.  Her nose was small and thin, in perfect proportion to her
visage, with the tiniest, almost imperceptible uptick at the end - if not
an angel's nose, then a fairy's, or an elf's.  Her mouth was small, but
again in what seemed a perfect proportion for her, her lower lip full, the
upper formed in a cupid's bow - both almost naturally pursed when in
repose, as if designed by the Maker for her priceless kisses.  The edges of
her mouth turned down just slightly, giving her a somewhat sad, or perhaps
merely pensive, look - like she was one to think things through carefully,
rather than rushing in gladly and unprepared.  I knew her eyes were blue -
a light, sparkling sky-blue, and for a moment I pictured her perfect face
with her eyes open, and framed by ringlets and strands of her golden hair.
Her puffy little cheeks, faintly tinted with a rosy blush from the warmth
in the room, would have glowed beneath the soft touch of her lockes.  They
flowed gracefully into a small chin that had the tiniest little indentation
in it.

   That her tresses had been raggedly shorn, that the skin above her eyes
was reddened and blistered and bared of any hair at all in a wide streak
and in errant blotches across her forehead and scalp, did nothing to
detract from her beauty.  I swear it.  I saw her exactly how she was, and
how she would be soon.

   Absently, unable to tear my gaze away from her face, I started in on her
left shoe, tugging at the tight, wet bow.  The lace was hard to loosen
because it had been soaked in her urine, and I simply pulled at it too
hard. Instantly she did just what I had dreaded - jerking awake, her eyes
opening wide, and I had not even a fraction of a second to regret my
ineptitude, for she stiffened, kicking her foot out towards me -
reflexively perhaps in her blindness, or maybe on purpose, striking out at
whoever or whatever was pulling at her foot.  Even as the tip of her shoe
hit my chest, I saw her dolly drop to the floor and her hands slap down
onto the surface of the bench.  Like a sound from a far distance I heard
her screech, repeatedly, in a high-pitched tone that was anything but
bell-like.

   She had gone to sleep safe in my arms and had awakened to completely new
surroundings - alone, probably feeling abandoned - on some strange, hard
surface, and even the air about her was all different.  She was terrified.
Her face was transformed from angelic repose to an almost contorted horror
- eyes round and searching blindly, mouth wide open and blaring out her
screaming calls.  She was completely helpless and sightless with absolutely
nothing familiar to help her gain her bearings - only something pulling at
her leg, threatening to upset her balance.  I knew she was calling out for
me, calling my name - how I knew it, I don't know - I had never been able
to decipher individual words before, in any girlsong, but this little girl
and I already had a bond.  I hastily reached up and tenderly grasped both
her stiffened arms, answering her call.  If I could steady her and let her
know that I was there, she would know that I hadn't abandoned her at all.
She yelled again, feeling my touch, and gasped, then called to me - this
time softer and more plaintive, but just as sharp, and her expression
transformed again and just as quickly, into one of grasping hope, and
relief.  She practically leaped forward onto me, clutching me, and grabbing
at me, like she was feeling all over me just to make sure that I was indeed
really there.  I engulfed her within my arms again and stood, lifting her
with me, holding her securely as I had all afternoon.  She literally
burrowed into my embrace again, almost curling herself into a little ball,
and I could feel her wracking sobs slowly lose their intensity as I gently
swayed her from side to side and swooshed my breath over the top of her
head.

   -------------------------------

   Lera awoke and suddenly just knew with a sinking heart, that everything
before this instant had been a dream - a glorious, deliriously happy,
wonderful dream, but a dream still the same.

   For a while there in the dream, the pain was all gone.  Her skin, on her
head, had been like on fire for so long, and nothing anyone on the train
did could stop it.  Dolly was hurt too, and crying all the time.  But then
someone new had come.  HE had come ...

   Ben.

   Ben had come!

   Ben knew how to make her feel all better, and he took care of Dolly too.
Ben made their hurt go away, and whenever it threatened to return, he ...
he was like a magician, he just blew on her, and everything was alright
again.

   Ben held her and wouldn't let any of the others take her away from him.
He wanted to keep her safe, and to take away all her pain ... not just the
burning ... so much more ... ALL her pain.  With Ben it was like everything
and everybody who had hurt her in the past could no longer touch her.

   But suddenly she knew it was all a dream, because suddenly Ben was gone!
And someone, one of the others, or something, was pulling her, trying to
drag her back to where she belonged, onto the train .. .  even though the
train was empty now, and all the other boys and girls were gone.  Whatever
it was, whoever it was, was going to burn her again, and there would be no
hope for her, she would always be alone with the pain ...

   Ben!  She called out.  Ben!  Ben!  Ben!  She screamed it as loud as she
could, and opened her eyes, but she couldn't see him, couldn't see
anything! Everything was black, and she was starting to slip and fall.  She
screamed and flailed her arms out and stiffened her whole body, thrusting
her hands down to grab onto something, but they slapped against something
very hard, and smooth, and flat.  That hurt too, and didn't help her at
all, she was still going to be pulled down, and away, back to the
orphanage, back to all that other pain.  She kicked out at whatever, or
whoever it was that was trying to pull her back there.

   Ben!

   Ben!

   Daddy!!

   Ben was her Daddy!  If he was real, and not just part of a dream, he
would hear her!  Surely he would answer her ... but ... but he couldn't,
could he?  He ... he was hurt too, he couldn't hear her ....

   She felt hands suddenly on her arms, big hands, warm hands, strong hands
... , firm, but SOFT hands, and she knew that Ben HAD answered her!  He WAS
real!  They were his hands, her Daddy's hands, and he would never let
anyone or anything pull her back to the way things were before.

   She was wide awake now.  She knew she was.  It was no dream.  To prove
it she sprang forward towards her Daddy, knowing that if he was there, he
would catch her ... just like he had ... just like he had before!  For
real!

   She slammed her whole body into him.  Her Daddy!  She felt him wrapping
his arms about her and her body convulsed against him, she was crying so
hard.  With joy!  Knowing that none of it had been a dream after all!  That
it had all really happened, and that wherever she was now, her new Daddy
was with her.

   ------------------------------

   How stupid could I have been, I berated myself, as I rocked Lera back
and forth slowly.  I should have awakened her before ever attempting to sit
her down on the bench.  We had been doing so well, before she had fallen
asleep, learning to sense one another, letting her touch things, like the
horse, before just walking off with her from the train station.

   I resolved not to forget this lesson again.  I had to warn her, to
prepare her, before just forcing her blindly into new situations.

   She was calming down now, it looked like she had stopped crying.  With
my shirt, I gently wiped her nose where he sniffles were dribbling mucous,
and her cheeks, which were flushed with her drying tears.

   I half expected the door to open, with all the screaming Lera had done,
but moments had passed now, and no one had come.  So the first thing I did
was to walk with her slowly over to the door.  I locked it.  Then I gently
grasped her right hand and tugged softly, until she understood, and let go
of my shirt.  Then I slowly directed her touch against the door knob.  She
felt the metal surface on the back of her hand, and she caught on
instantly. She turned her hand over and wrapped her fingers around the
knob. Then I let her feel the door itself, and the walls to either side. 
As we explored, she uncurled from her fetal position within my arms and
lifted her head, but still kept it against my chest.

   And so we explored the whole room that way - its contours, the shelves,
the sink - where she turned the water on and off - no doubt it was much
like what she was used to at her orphanage, or even on the train.  Next,
the toilet, where I knelt and let her brush her hand around the seat - it
was common enough, with the big hole in the middle, and I knew she could
picture what it was.  She even pointed down between her legs.  I lifted her
hand to my cheek, and nodded up and down.  I thought I saw just the trace
of a smile then!  A tentative lifting at the corners of her mouth.  A
growing interest.  I imagined that she was thrilled to be given this chance
to test her surroundings, rather than just being led around, seeing only
darkness, and always being dependent on someone else.

   Finally I took her over to the bath itself and knelt down, and dipped
her fingertips down to the level of the water.  She swirled her fingers
about in the warm water, and I cupped her hand in mine, and then helped her
scoop up some of the water, and let it run down her wrist.  Then I rubbed
her wrist, in broad motions.  She nodded again, and it was all clear to
her, that we were about to have our bath.

   The bench next.  I needed to get her permission to sit her down -
otherwise this was going to be a rather difficult operation!

   I sat down with her on my lap first, and turned to the side a bit, to
allow her hand to explore the backrest, and then down to run her palm
across the seat itself.  I scootched down the bench, and guided her hand
till she came into contact with her package, sitting atop the pile of Mr.
May's old clothes.

   Every move we had made, every touch, was deliberate - we were working as
a team again.  No more cause for panic, nothing new thrust upon her out of
the blue.

   For the first time she seemed to forget about any need to clutch my
shirt - she let go with both her hands, trusting me to hold her securely as
she leaned over to lift the package and settle it between her belly and
mine.  She ran her hands over the brown paper wrapper, measuring its length
and width.  She found the edge of the wrapper on top, and pulled up - I
smiled, imagining that there was never a child who didn't take delight in
opening such a package, wondering what delights might be secured within.

   I took that moment, while she was so intent on what might be inside that
package, to place my hands beneath her thighs and lift her and her treasure
ever so gently off my lap, and turn her half-way round, with her back
against the wall at the end of the bench.  I settled her right down onto
the soft layer of Mr.  May's clothes, and she absently drew her legs up
beneath her, and knelt back on them right there with the package between
us. She could feel the wall with her feet, but I don't think she even
noticed, so absorbed was she in her self-appointed task.  We were getting
there!  To where she belonged, to that new place and time, where she would
feel secure and loved and cared for, and would have no need to fear that I
would ever abandon her.  But I didn't take it too far.  I leaned over
towards her, placing my right arm on the backrest, and dangled my hand onto
her left shoulder.  I wanted her to know exactly where I was, and that I
was not going anywhere.

   But more ... I molded my hand to her narrow shoulder just ... just as
much because, for my own sake, I wanted to remain in contact with her ...
she may have been thrilled with the possibility of delving into her new
treasure, but I had my treasure too.  I had been in heaven all afternoon
holding and carrying her, and truth be told, I hardly wanted these special
first moments of our lives together to end.  But one moment in heaven may
be as sublime as another.  Now I could sit next to this girl on the bench,
and still touch her, and feel her body imparting wondrous and
never-before-known sensations through my touch to my very soul.  I could
feel the infinite softness of her flesh.  I lowered my hand, caressing
downwards, along her side, and there were her tiny ribs beneath the
softness.  They rose and fell with each of her breaths.  I felt the warmth
of her animated being.  I marveled in her delicacy, at how small she was,
at how diminutive was her every feature - from her ears to her fingers to
her shoulders to ... her whole body, but in this tiny creature sitting next
to me was all the power she ever needed to bend me to her service, to her
will, to her needs.  And yet, with all her power over me - she was mine.  I
was hers, and she was mine.

   Once again I felt the stirrings within me, of that sense of my purpose
in life being revealed, of my very manhood being fulfilled.  It was a
purpose beyond my self, I realized, and perhaps that was why, unlike
earlier in the afternoon, these feelings now didn't translate into anything
sexual, into a swelling of my penis or an ache within my testicles, or the
urgency of building release, but I did feel a vibrancy within my whole body
that was far greater than those primal urges, an energy that I knew could
only be expressed in giving myself to Lera - having found her, SHE was now
my reason for living, and if there were indeed such a supreme ordinance in
our lives as Providence, then SHE had ALWAYS been my reason for existence.

   That other part of my self would no doubt re-exert itself at other
moments.  I knew there would be times when her sheer beauty and her
femininity would arouse me sexually, times when I would feel the urge to
express my love for her with a different kind of touch, times when I would
desire her as someone other than my daughter, but I was no more afraid of
such times now than I had been earlier in the afternoon, when I had become
so hard and erect when she kissed me, because at that time, and in all
times to come, my true nature would be revealed.  I would be first, and
always, her Daddy.

   Mere moments from now, when bathing her, I would be more intimate with
her than I had ever been with any other being.  I gloried in the chance. 
Not as a test.  But as proof.

   ---------------------------------

   It was easy to discern something about her past, as I watched Lera
investigate each item in the package.  - I began to suspect that she had
not been given many chances like this in the orphanage.  Each item seemed
interesting and marvelous to her.  A comb was on top of the clothing I had
bought, along with a brush, some soap, and the rose water.  But this was
not just any comb - she felt along its spine, then tested the tines, she
turned it one way, then another.  She lifted it to her hair, and pulled it
once with infinite care through silken filaments.  Then she surprised me -
she held it out towards me, and reached with her other hand for me - I met
her hand with mine, and she guided it to the comb, then guided both to a
spot on the bench between us, away from the package.  No, this comb was not
just a comb.  It was now HER comb, and she placed it securely between us,
ordering its direction and position on the bench, and trusting me to
safeguard it.

   And then the brush - not just any brush either, for it was given the
same careful attention, and afterward she held it out to me too.  I took it
from her hands and placed it next to the comb, aligned just the same.  She
paused, letting me do that, but then she felt for the spot, to find where I
had placed it.  I must have done it just right, because when she found it,
she looked up at me with those unseeing, wide-open eyes of hers, and gave
me a solemn little nod of approval.

   Perhaps I sat up straighter then!  Passing this little test of hers
seemed like the most wonderful achievement of my life all of a sudden!  I
laughed inwardly at myself, surprised at the degree of joy that filled me
to have pleased her in such a simple act.  But then, was it so simple?  We
were, after all, again acting as One - and I prayed that it would ever be
so, in all things, great and small.

   The soap seemed a mystery to her at first.  If her experience was
anything like mine, she was used to a chunky bar of lye soap - my mother
had taught me how to make it, and I still did.  But what Lera picked up
from the package now was honest to goodness Ivory!  I had never bought any
before, but I wanted only the most delicate of soaps for Lera - 99 and 44
one hundredths percent pure, they advertised, and it floats!  It was in a
little card-stock box, and Lera had to explore that first, before finally
opening it.  Once she felt it's waxy surface I think she knew right away
what it was, because she brought it immediately to her nose and inhaled its
perfumed scent.  Then she even rubbed it on her arm, and nodded
contentedly, before handing it to me.  Still no outright smile , but
perhaps we were getting there too.

   I was a meany, because I stole the little flask of rose water off the
pile of clothes before she had a chance to notice it, and set it behind me
on the bench.  Too precious to risk spilling, and I really needed it for
the balm that we would use later on.

   Our very thoughts seemed connected, or perhaps our feelings, for her
hands hung in mid-air suddenly, in the very act of reaching towards the
package.  Very slowly, and haltingly, she took a breath.  I knew she was
willing herself the strength to withstand another wave of pain, but then
her shoulders slumped , as if the effort to hold them up was suddenly too
much for her.  Through all the exploring she had kept her eyes open, but
now her eyelids fluttered closed and she compressed her lips into a tight,
straight line, trying to stop their trembling.  I already towered over her
on the bench, even with her kneeling back upon her heels, so I released
what I prayed would be just the cooling wash of air over her forehead and
scalp that she wanted.  She reached for me, and at that moment I wanted to
just sweep her up into my arms again - I wanted to hold her again, and
forever - but this moment was not to be lost!  If we could just get over
this wave of pain, she would be alright for a while - long enough for us to
prepare for the bath, and then I could cleanse and soothe her scalp with
the spring waters, and treat her wounds with the balm.

   I caught her hands and cupped them in mine, still blowing over her
scalp. It was enough for her - she let me hold onto her while moving her
head back and forth under my cooling breath.  She sighed then and opened
her eyes and sat up straighter, making a conscious effort to relegate the
pain to some far recess of her mind.  I couldn't resist lifting her little
hands up to my lips and kissing them.  And she curled them around my
fingertips and gave me a little squeeze!

   But then it was back to business.  She delved back into the package and
lifted out the new dress, marveling as she unfurled it up off the pile - it
grew long and longer, and she had to stretch to hold it up even half-way.
But she knew what it must be, laying it down upon her lap and smoothing its
soft fabric, and even holding it up against her chest to test its size,
measuring it against her shoulders and at her neck and at her sleeves - now
I was the one to marvel, because I had seen my mother do that kind of thing
many times - was it an instinctive, natural reaction by all females of the
species?

   She carefully refolded the dress, and gave it to me too.  I set it down
next to the other items while she reached in for her new shoes, pulling
them up onto her lap side by side.  She ran her fingers up the laces like
she was thrumming the strings of a tiny harp, and luxuriated in the pliant
softness of the leather.

   Socks came next, and she probably would have tried those on if she
weren't still wearing shoes.  And a nightcap, which she did try on!  Albeit
very gingerly, lifting it out away from her burns.  She puffed out the
sides elsewhere and seemed to like its feel upon her, no doubt imagining
the way it would look.

   Each bit of her treasure she handed to me in turn, and I filed them in
their appointed place on the bench.  After the soap took up its position,
she started patting each item in turn where it lay, as if counting them
again and again, as their number grew.  I watched as each inanimate object
got its loving attention, and might have pouted, wanting her little
outstretched hand, with her slender little fingers, to pat me too - but
then, none of those items had been given a kiss, had they?  Or an embrace!

   I was near giddy by now, just loving the way she did every little thing.
Till she got to the next item!

   Two more packages to be opened, actually.  Smaller and flatter, they had
lain hidden beneath all the other items till now.  She made short work of
the wrapping around the larger of the two new packages, and pulled out
those unmentionables that I had shied away from earlier in the store. 
These were like little cream-colored miniature bloomers, with frills down
the front and sides and lace at the hems - well, my only experience with
such things was from picture drawings in the Sears and Roebuck catalogue.
Perhaps I can be forgiven if my ears singed with embarrassment.  Rather
silly of me, given that I was about to undress this sublime little
creature, bathe her, and then dress her again in her fresh new clothes -
including these self-same frilly undergarments!  But such is the way, with
a 38 year old recluse of a bachelor, whose only experience with a female's
drawers was seeing my mother's old-style pantaloons - individual leggings
which she slipped over her thighs and hips, and tied together with thin
strips of fabric to hold them up.  Open in the middle, for convenience. 
Now these new drawers of Lera's!  She would have to actually remove them to
relieve herself, leaving all her private areas completely open to the air!.
My ears singed again.

   She ran her hands over the garment, feeling of the puffy frills and lace
and ribbons, losing herself in all the unexpected finery, not sensing the
true shape or purpose, and I thought for the first time she really might
not figure out what it was.  Well that left me with something of a problem,
given how easily I had been embarrassed by just seeing her lift it up out
of its wrapping.  We had a pact, Lera and I, we were doing things together.
I couldn't hear.  She couldn't see, but together we found ways to get all
the important things done.  It was no time to stop now.

   I reached out and touched her hands, and then tugged at the drawers. 
She felt it, and didn't even hesitate before lifting them up for me, and
then she looked up at me with that unseeing but searching gaze, her brows
raised, her mouth open, questioning?  It dawned on me that ever since Aunt
Carrie explained that I was deaf, Lera had not tried to talk to me.  Almost
everyone else I had ever come into contact with made the mistake of
continuing to talk to me, even after learning of my deafness, seemingly
unable to comprehend that I really couldn't hear, creating misunderstanding
and unnecessary frustration.  Lera already knew me better than all those
others.  She relied on expression, and signs, and touch.

   She mimicked my movements as I slowly straightened the drawers,
stretched them out.  It was like our hands were attached with some kind of
invisible bond - together we positioned the drawers just as she had before,
with the dress, lowering them, pressing the fabric of the leggings to her
thighs, and smoothing the garment till its waistline fit against hers. 
Each step was magical for me - a brief brush with her fingertips against
mine, a pause while she grasped my hand to follow its next motion - it was
a kind of dance with our fingers and hands.  With the drawers in place
properly, she nodded knowingly, then took over, eager and enthused, testing
their fit in place, flattening and adjusting, fitting the drawers perfectly
against her form.  Finally satisfied, she looked up at me again and gave me
the biggest nod of approval yet.  'Yes, I understand,' she seemed to
saying. And then ... an even bigger reward ...  that bare hint of a shy
smile, that she had allowed so fleetingly earlier, just with a tiny lift at
the corners of her mouth, widened even more.  All too brief still - but I
could not begrudge her any lack of effort, through all that pain.  To me,
and I think to her, it was her 'thank you.' A gift that thrilled me.

   Her momentary look of satisfaction disappeared suddenly.  Her eyes
popped wide, and round in alarm, and her whole body tensed, her shoulders
drawing in.  For the briefest moment I thought maybe she had heard some
loud, startling noise from beyond the door of the Water Works, but somehow
I sensed that her gaze this time was turned inwards.  Her arms had bolted
out in front of her, held down rigidly, as if she were poised to jump
forward towards me again.  But then very slowly she lifted her bottom up
off her heels, till she was kneeling straight up on the bench.  She was
containing herself, for some reason, looking like she was feeling some
sharp or unusual pain inside, and trying to hold it in.  I was just
reaching out to steady her, when in a flash she swept both her hands back
to her bottom, holding on tightly there, and she started almost jumping
about on her knees, still tensed all over.

   If not dumb in the way that some people thought of me, I was perhaps
dim-witted!  But finally I caught on when with one hand she started
pointing in a jerking motion at her bottom, with a desperate look on her
face, and from some dim recess in my memory I pictured myself as a little
kid, waiting too long to go to the outhouse, and suddenly needing to go so
badly that I could hardly hold it in and I started pumping my legs and
clenching my bottom tight.  My girl needed to poop!  And she needed to do
it right now!  Fiddling with her new undergarments must have ignited her
awareness of this very immediate need.  With it hitting her like that all
of a sudden, I could only imagine that she had a case of loose bowels, and
felt herself just about to burst.

   I jumped up off the bench and lifted her bodily and swung her around
with me as gracefully as I could manage - round the end of the bench and
over to the toilet.  She was still as rigid as a pole in my arms, but when
she sensed me positioning her in front of the commode, and as I started to
lower her so she could stand, she was already reaching to pull her dress
up. She didn't try to stand, but flopped back into a sitting position in a
panic.  I had the sense to grab one side of her dress and pull it up, or
she would have released right into it - I don't think she could have held
it in even another second.  As it was, I imagined that she was going to
seriously soil her undergarments, because she had had no time to pull them
down, but then I heard a rush of liquid splattering down into the toilet. I
could only think that, well, she must not even be wearing any underclothes!

   She would have fallen backwards, with her little bottom sinking right
into the center of the adult-sized toilet seat, but I caught her and knelt
to brace my arms around her back, inadvertently pulling up her dress even
more.  It all happened so fast that I had no time at all to think about the
incredible sights that were bared to my vision now.  They simply hit me. 
One little mystery was immediately cleared up, for I could clearly see her
left thigh clad in the old-style type pantaloons like those my mother had
worn.  I saw the thin cloth tie-strip disappear around her waist, where it
would be tied to the strip from the other legging, leaving both her front
and bottom open.  I supposed she may have accidentally soiled the edges of
the fabric, and she had certainly peed all over those pantaloons earlier.

   From my position, holding her dress up, the entire length of her left
leg was revealed, all the way up to her buttock - more bare girl-flesh than
I had seen at any time in all my years, other than on my postcard.  Lera
was no flattened, one-dimensional postcard image!  Her flesh was
pearl-white and so infinitely smooth, made up of all girlishly soft curves.
Where her leggings were split at the top swell of her buttock, I could just
barely see around to just the hint of that shadowed vale between her
cheeks. If this presaged what I was soon to see - her whole body bared -
then I was in for shocks to my system that would be numbing.  If there had
been time, if she had not needed my immediate attention in other ways, I
would have lost every one of my remaining faculties, to this sight of her.

   It was obvious from the quick rush and the sound, that Lera had diarrhea
- just another of the little - and some not at all so little - maladies
that this little girl was dealing with.  Who could possibly blame her if it
was so hard for her to break into a smile?  And who would ever forgive me
for not attending to her needs, rather than my own sensibilities?

   But the look of relief on her face was worth all the momentary panic we
both had experienced.  She relaxed back against my arms and extended her
own to grasp my shoulders, then she kind of scrunched up her nose and
placed one hand over it, and pinched it closed against the rising smell. 
Her whole face reddened then, and I knew she was embarrassed.

   The smell wasn't that bad or even strong, really, and I ignored it in
any case.  I just patted her on her back to reassure her.  She seemed to be
finished, so I looked around for something to wipe with.  More wonders to
behold, there was a an actual roll of perforated paper sitting on a small
shelf nearby - the kind I had seen advertised in the newspapers from back
east - soft and scented with aloe, no doubt!  Quite a change from the stack
of old newspapers that I left near my earth box, back home.  I was wont to
tear off any old bit of that paper to wipe, but with this stuff, what was I
to do!  It seemed too precious for the likes of me, but for Lera - well, I
thought with a wry lift of my brow, nothing is too good for my little
girl's back side!  So I unrolled several segments of it and tore them off.

   Another instance when it would have been a whole lot more convenient of
I could hear, or she could see!  Two options then.  Either wipe her myself,
or have her do it - surely even blind, she could do it, although there
might be some question of how completely she could do it, without looking
to see if the paper was still dirty.  But we were going to take a bath soon
anyway.  Perhaps I would be justified in not submitting her to the
indignity of me wiping her.  I lifted the little strip of paper to her hand
at her nose and nudged it against her fingers.

   She felt it and must have smelled it too, because as she took it from me
she held it to her nose for a moment.  But not being quite so slow as I,
she understood immediately what I had given the paper to her for.

   I watched, with as much discretion as I thought possible, while still
making sure that she was doing a thorough job of cleaning herself.  At
least that's what I told myself!  Can I be blamed if, in the seeing, I
forgot all about how well she was wiping?  It was her flesh that I saw, and
... where her hand, with the tissue, momentarily disappeared too.  I ...
well, I didn't breathe again, I was so entranced, imagining - what if I had
indeed wiped her myself, and touched her so intimately ... down there.  My
breath returned only when she dropped the paper into the toilet, released
her dress, and my momentary daze was terminated.  She reached out to grab
for me again, and started to rise, and I was back in the real world.

   As we both rose, me lifting her again to hold her, she looked
momentarily startled again and craned her head back and around towards the
toilet.  I followed her unseeing gaze, and saw a whirlpool of water rushing
round the insides of the commode and draining down through holes in the
bottom, and along with it all the effluvium she had deposited there.  Flush
toilet indeed, activated by pressure on the seat!  No doubt about it, Aunt
Carrie's house was a marvel of modern conveniences and engineering.  Old
man Mays certainly hadn't taken all his riches to his grave.

   The sound the flush must have made didn't seem to frighten Lera too
much. She accepted my embrace, but not with the gripping panic of earlier
in the day.  I soothed her nevertheless, caressing her as I took her back
round to the little space in front of the bath, and squatted with her right
at the edge of the water.

   It was time to make a 'new girl' of her, as my mother had so often said
to me when I was a child.  Each bath, to her way of thinking, was like a
rebirth of her little boy, fresh and clean.  I didn't need or want a 'new
girl,' only this girl, but she would certainly feel better after a bath.

   There was no way Lera could bathe herself.  Not even if we were merely
using a round basin sat upon the floor, with buckets of water to pour over
her head.  This bathing pool was deep and wide.  I couldn't just let her
step in.  I didn't even know if she could swim or tread water, and she
would end up needing to do both if she I released her into the middle of
the pool.

   I was in desperate need of a bath too, so there was nothing for it but
for me to strip down and get in, then gently introduce her step by step
down into the pool.  We would follow our now familiar procedure, taking it
slowly, using touch.  I would guide her through everything, careful that
she had the time to understand, to show me her needs and wants.

   Taking her right hand as I had done earlier during our tour of the bath
room, I gently pulled downward, till she stooped with me, and dipped it
into pool.  Then I released her hand, with mine next to hers, swirling,
lifting water up onto her wrist and forearm.  She hesitated only a moment,
then slowly dipped her cupped hand even deeper and brought it up, trying to
do the same for me - her aim was off a bit, so I moved my hand into contact
with hers and let her try again.

   Of course she understood.  As she had understood everything since that
moment when she stumbled into my arms out on that station platform.  We
were partners now in all things, large and small.  Even in something so
simple as taking this bath, we would do it as One.

   We were so close together, both on our haunches there at the edge of
that pool.  I enveloped her within my arms, as was my wont, pulling her
closer still, till she was there between my knees.  I could feel her breath
upon my cheek.  I then took her hands again, gently grasping each in turn,
and lifted them to the upper button of my shirt.  With our fingers
entwined, I went through the motions of unbuttoning.  When I started to
lower my hand to the next button, hers were there before me.

   Yes.  We both understood.