She searched all day for her bear. She needed some comfort, any comfort at all! While Mother was out with the cows, Iris tiptoed into her mother's bedroom. It was forbidden to do so and she felt nervous as her toe trespassed into the room. The floorboard creaked and frightened her. She jerked and bumped into the spindly lamp. She caught it with the tips of her fingers before it hit the floor.

This house was where she had lived her whole life yet she didn't know half of its secrets. The locked doors, the hollow sounding shed floor, all were a mystery.

Iris knelt down by Mother's bed and looked under. Nothing but dust and webs. She pulled herself up and padded over to the dresser. Nothing except Mother's nightgowns in its drawers. She turned and saw the walk-in closet. And curiously, she smiled. Iris had always loved the closet. The boxes it stored always seemed to hold fun treasures. One day while she was 7, she found a round bit of metal with four little legs. Afraid she was going to get in trouble for playing with it, Iris kept it to herself for weeks, pretending it was some ancient animal.

Her father walked into her room while she was playing with it. Iris quickly pushed it under the table. Father laughed and picked it up.

"I've been looking for this," he said.

Iris met his gaze nervously. "What is it?"

"A key to the special room," he said cryptically, but with a smile on his face.

"Where's the special room?" Iris whispered.

Her father dropped the key onto her lap. "You have to find it." His brow furrowed. "But don't let your Mother find it too. It's secret from her."

"Why?"

"You'll know when you enter the room."

Iris loved that memory. It was one she fell back on during those dark nights, the ones where the blood stains on the landing didn't fade, the sting of a palm didn't subside and the coldness of her heart didn't warm.

She walked into the closet and looked about her. She stood on the bench to see if anything was hidden on the top shelf. Nothing.

Boxes were piled against the wall. They were taped shut, just like they had been her whole life. Iris wasn't to ever touch those. And Mother checked often.

She continued her search into her Father's room. This was one of the rooms of the house Iris could go into so she wasn't as apprehensive now. But Mother almost surely would never hide anything in his room. She hated it. Every time she had to come in, she would mutter to herself, "A place of lies and a place for bodies."

Iris never understood that and she was positive she didn't want to know. She had seen enough bodies for her young age.

She peeked through the drawers of the dresser and saw her father's clothing was gone. In its place, a shiny cogwheel. Iris picked it up, examining the curious work. What on earth was this doing here? She didn't recognize it from anything in the house. After running her fingers around the full spokes, she placed it carefully back into the drawer and closed it.

She looked under the bed and on the empty bookshelf. The only book in this house was hidden carefully in her room. Mother would take it away if she found it.

There was nothing here, Iris had decided. She slipped out of the room. In the hallway, to her left, was the door that would take her up to the attic. She leaned over the railing and listened for Mother. All was quiet. Iris turned and opened the thin door. She closed it behind her and climbed the dark stairs. A spider web caught her face.

"Ugh," she muttered, rubbing her skin. She continued to the top and looked about the dim attic. A sewing mannequin stood in the center of the room, white fabric, scissors and pins spread about it. This is where Mother made Iris and her dresses and nightgowns. Iris rubbed the dress currently pinned to the stand. She dropped and turned to look at the side room. And nearly screamed.

In the other room stood a cell, where Mother would lock Iris for days on end when she would be naughty. Iris hadn't been locked in it in years. But now, crumpled at the bottom of the cell was a body. Iris closed her eyes and ran to the other room, where Mother stored fabric.

Iris shook her head, trying to clear the image the body from her eyes. She didn't recognize this one. It wasn't Father or the Nameless Boy. Iris didn't want to know who it was. Instead, Iris continued her search for the bear. Curiously, in the back of the sewing room was a cradle. Iris had never seen it before. She approached it cautiously like it could reach out a claw her. It did no such thing and Iris reached out a pale hand to stroke the raw wood. A small bit of wood eased into her skin and she pulled away.

After rubbing the wood away from her finger, she laughed at her confusion. This had to be her own cradle. No one else. She got closer and gasped. Her bear lay limp in the corner of the crib. Iris snatched it up. As soon as she did, the front door slammed.

"Iris!" screeched Mother. Her pounding footsteps could be heard in the creaky house. Iris shot out of the sewing room. She frantically searched her front pocket and her fingers wrapped around the special key. She jammed the four small cylinders into the holes in the wall. She twisted. A hidden door slid open and Iris ran inside, closing the door behind her. She stood there in the darkness, hardly breathing. Mother could be heard running to the attic. "What are you doing?" she growled.

Iris could hear Mother's heavy breaths through the thin metal. A sudden clang made Iris's ears ring; Mother had hit the door. "Where's the key?" Mother whispered to herself.

Only until Iris was sure Mother had left did she finally begin the march up the stairs. It was even darker up here but an old oil lamp sat on the table, ready to light up the surroundings. Iris struck a match and lit the wick. She blew out the match and turned up the lamp a smidge.

It was a dreary room, not a sort of special a child would imagine. But it was what Iris loved. Some twisted grass dolls and pieces of paper were scattered across the floor. Father had taught her how to write her name and that's what she wrote, over and over again. Until her scraps of paper were filled. Then Father would get her more paper.

Before Father died, he had filled her small basket with paper and writing instruments. Iris knew she had to use this paper with discretion, for she did not want to run out. At least until she could get a new supply.

Setting her bear on the table, Iris pulled the basket of paper out from under and set it on the table.

"Let's see what Daddy got for us today," she whispered to Teddy. Its beaded, blinkless gaze was its reply. She lifted up a torn and water damaged notebook. She flipped through it and saw it was mostly filled with notes. She closed it and set it to the side. It could still be used but she wanted to look at some other things first.

At the top of the pile was a grey, thin collection of papers. She lifted it and it unfolded, doubling in size. It had large words at the top and a big picture. There were smaller words and pictures that followed.

She didn't read very well in English and even less in French. But she knew most of the sounds of the letters. Maybe she could sound the big lettering out. Not the little ones though. They would take ages to decipher and understand. She would need Mother's help and she could never ask. Mother would throw all of the papers out with the cows to get muddy and trampled.

"N..." she enunciated in a hushed voice. "Ni-" She stopped and cocked her head at the next letter. This was a weird one. X. She couldn't remember what it sounded like. "Ecks..." she said, trying to jog her memory. It fell into her head like a knife stabbing a table. "Nix-ah..."

"Nix-ah-n. Nix-oh-n. Nixon!" She turned to her toy. "I got it, Teddy! Nixon." She looked at the second word. Thank goodness it was shorter and started with the same letter as the first words. "N... neh-wah-s." She pursed her lips and grunted. That wasn't right. She knew that the letter E could make another noise. "N-ee-wah-s." She stared at it for a second. What was wrong? She thought back to all the words she knew how to spell. Maybe another fit the pattern. A memory fell into place.

Iris was outside, filling the large metal bin full of water for the cows. Her father was throwing molding hay into the fenced area. The sun was hot, at least the beams that filtered themselves through the dense trees above them were. Iris stood, sweating by the fence. Every now and then, she would splash some water on herself. It seemed as if the water sizzled off her red skin, like snow on a stove.

Father threw the last bale in and strode over to his daughter. "It's a hot one today," he said, sighing heavily.

Iris nodded. Father stuck his hand through the fence and into the water. He brought a hand up to his face and held it, sighing as the cold water dripped down his neck. He repeated the action, this time running his fingers through his hair. A droplet of water hit the white wood of the fenced, discoloring it in the shape of a sideways J. Iris pointed the fact out. Father nodded. They watched the wannabe letter dry, leaving a clean palate. Father dipped a finger in the water again and drew on the wood. The letters H and I appeared. Iris laughed. "Hello, Father," she said.

"Ah, I knew you could read," he said. Iris scoffed. "Barely. I want to learn more."

Father nodded, rubbing the stubble on his chin. "Well, you know the letters. I'll teach you different sounds they might make with other letters."

He wrote A and I and the fence. "These letters together make "Ay," he said. He went through a few more then, "E-w. It makes the noise in few." He wrote the word down. "And new." He laughed and wrote the letters s, e, w. "But not in 'Sew'. English is... a crazy language."

Iris had her second word now. The phrase "Nixon News" burned in her vision. And she knew what this packet of papers must be. "Teddy," she whispered. "Father left us a newspaper!"